When my dad left when I was a child

and the thought occurred to me that while

I grew up, he wouldn’t see me smile,

the depression started.

Lord, help me.

As I turned older, it only got worse

and my actions only grew more perverse

since to my surroundings, I was averse.

I now constantly pray,

“Lord, help me.”

When the hate boils inside of me so

and I feel like the lowest of the low,

but I don’t tell Mom since I feel I owe

her my whole life. I pray,

“Lord, help me.”

At the times when I feel so out of place,

when all I can feel are tears on my face

and the only way that my heart will race

is when I hurt myself,

Lord, help me.

When the scratches are no longer enough

and I think my nails are just not as tough,

I reach for something to cut through the rough

skin of mine and leave marks.

Lord, help me.

When I feel that it is time to give up

and these evil thoughts, my mind, they corrupt

and all of this pain and anguish buildup

until I want to scream,

“Lord, help me!”

And during the day, when the bruises ache,

and around my friends and family I fake

that I’m actually happy, for their sake,

when I just want to cry,

“Lord, help me...”

And finally, at the end of the day,

when I can’t sleep and in my bed I lay,

it’s hard enough to keep those thoughts at bay.

All that I just pray is,

“Lord, help me.”