Who said it'll be okay?

Im not okay.

The voice took over.

Its just me, Its not anxiety.

Everyone lies.

I look like a buffoon.

Im fat, ugly, and stupid.

The words keep repeating in my head not letting me even breathe.

What do I have to do to be free?

Use a knife or a rope or some pills?

The only way to be truly free...

Is the escape of life on your own free hand.

This poem is about: 
Me

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