I know you are locked away behind real bars,
I never really know your scars.
I have never really been there,
But I know you live everyday on a prayer.
I just know my personal prison,
The life that some say is a life of indecision.
But really is a life of pure hell,
So here is my story to tell.
Thoughts of murder and suicide is a daily thing,
Hallucinations and paranoia that is not improving.
Not a soul to trust,
I live everyday in total disgust.
I need deliverance is what some people say,
If they would only live my life for a day.
I live behind locked doors,
I have my own wars.
I feel up and down,
And I always wear a frown.
Some days I just lie in bed ,
And mainly wish I were dead.
The nightmares are frightening,
I wake up screaming.
They seem so real,
I just want my nights to be still.
The sickness,
I feel the thickness.
They give you meds to deal with the pain,
But with those you only feel the drain.
When will our sentence end,
I know we can’t go on and pretend,
Life is fine
I just wish I could sit down and enjoy a life like a fine wine.
But it is not meant to be,
For me,
My prison is in my own mind,
My life is so unkind.
A life where on the windows there are bars,
My life I am living with the scars.
I look at images of you and I see the sadness,
I want to reach out to you but not sure if I can because of the madness.
All the scars that you bare,
I want you to know that deep down I really do care.
Deborah Seale Miller
Copyright © deborah Seale | Year Posted 2021
previously published on poetrysoup.com
All Through The House With Love 