Struggle

“Stop, don't do that.”
Control my thoughts.
Tell me things i'm supposed to do.
Uncaring of my thoughts and opinions.

Your all hurt, and ready to give up.
Your friends all laugh,
Think its a joke.
Talk of therapy comments,
“That's tough.”

What do you do?
Deathbed is calling for you.
Breathings a struggle.
Skin grays from lack of attention.

Death calls,
“your better off with me.”
Cremator is ready,
Your body is cold and lifeless.

Gotta choose your pick.
Is life going to seize you,
Or are better off with death?
Open your mouth and breath,
Or lie there and body decay.