Escapism.

A coma would even be better than the reality that is my most skilled enemy.
Numb from anesthesia would be sweeter than being forced to cope.
Desensitized by sedatives so I could get some peace.
Dead man walking now that I've forgotten how to sleep.

My thoughts possess me making my skin crawl like my anxiety is composed of fleas.
I am my harshest critic when I ostracize myself for believing my own lies.
Always waiting for a new day to arrive although my sun refuses to rise.
Time was supposed to heal all wounds but cuts me instead, unwilling to let me rest.

Cancer would even be better on me as it would come equipped with pain that I could see.
Anguish from traumatic events are not tangible;
invisible to the world, so I feel it is an unworthy defense.
Suffering in this state is only understood by others privy to emotional pain.

If only it were simple to explain, and stigma was not saved for illnesses that exist inside our brains.
I was meant for so much more than this life defined by the obstacles that I have endured.
Not measured in success but rather by the duress that has
robbed me of any reason to feel accomplished.

Each lesson pulls me in a different direction
as I've tried everything from prayer to therapy in the hopes that I could somehow change my perception.
The only cure would be sanctuary from my emotions that are diseased.

I would love to be released from the insanity
that circles inside me like a merry go round that will not stop long enough to let me off.
Privileged to be born free, my own choices have imprisoned me;
the abuse I became used to set the ground for the decay that disparages my mind.

I went from hurting myself physically to chasing temporary highs
to mask the sorrows that are so easily drowned in ravines of red wine.
I beg of God to have mercy on my soul and take away the insomnia that invades me,
a cycle that never ceases to end.
My greatest conflict is to regain control of my life, which can only happen once I make amends with my past that I've condemned.