What was I made for?

by Poet on the Piano

Am I sick of life
or sick of myself...

Somewhere here.

by Poet on the Piano

I'll be here,
whatever "here" means...

Constricted.

by Poet on the Piano

I never remember the nights
being this unbearably long...

Men.

by Poet on the Piano

Could it ever be safe
to be with them...

The weather within.

by Poet on the Piano

It's been cloudy on my mind and in my heart and in...

the nights

by Poet on the Piano

they're so different now
you don't check...

It follows.

by Poet on the Piano

And I doubt I’ll be able to forget
the text messages we sent...

Unsafe.

by Poet on the Piano

And it's not that I don't feel safe with myself,
or with this environment even...

Hospital blues.

by Poet on the Piano

The longer I am here,
the more I lose my...

Anxiety.

by Poet on the Piano

The stress builds
until my hands shake...

Dysphoria.

by Poet on the Piano

The dysphoria feels like a punch to the gut,
feeling fine then suddenly out of place...

Impulse.

by Poet on the Piano

The choices I have made, this one in particular,
will not grant me any reprieve...