So young with highs as sharp as mountain peaks,
and lows deeper than the bottom of the sea.
The flashes of emotions were killing me,
and the pills were not healing me.
In my head there were bits and pieces
Of words and thoughts that might have helped me through this.
But to put them down on paper was silly,
People say "ya oughta keep your feelin's a secret."
But the secret, it was eating at me,
And all I wanted was so much to break free.
I picked up the pencil and began to write,
and for me life, it seemed, I was living with all my might
The highs are still manic,
and the lows more depressive,
But the words that ebs and flows makes the pain worthwhile,
and I know that life still goes on.
No matter how low I go, it gets better.
Just write it all out on a page and wait---
Suicide is not poetry!
Words are like magic,
They give you reason to be.