Letters from a stressed out teen

The water gets high,

my oxygen is low,

I'm barely getting by and I've nowhere left to go.

The heart beats,

blood races,

body heats,

surrounded by bruised faces.

Hush,

keep your mouth shut,

and hang your head down low.

Play the game and play pretend,

no one must ever know.

We're all drowning in our sorrows or suffocating by proxy,

a generation of quick fixers doping up on oxy.

It's time to make my stand,

because in this ocean of persisting problems,

I'm losing sight of land.

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