Standing on the ledge
That is covered by snow
Looking over the edge
Down to the street below
I must end my life
To cease all the pain
My damn internal strife
Will vanish in the rain
But I am too afraid
To take this final fall
On the ledge I stay
Fear is making me stall
I must cross this blockade
So my end I can finally meet
As my body will slowly cascade
Down to the snow-covered street
Something is holding me back
Catching me with its clenched fist
My mind slowly begins to crack
Trying to figure out what it is
The force of it is so great
That I step off the edge
And sit on an old milk crate
That is next to the ledge
I sit here for a long time
Trying to decide what to do
Thoughts are racing in my mind
As I think my options through
Then I slowly begin to recall
The world that I once knew
The world where I had it all
And I knew always what to do
A place that I was cheerful everyday
A place where everything made sense
Not this wretched city I live today
Where anger is my only defense
A place where the only problem was bugs
Where everyone was always having fun
Not here where my problem is drugs
And everyone I know carries a gun
What happen to this paradise
What happen to this peaceful place
Did it vanish into the city lights
Or become part of the rat race
Then I realized that I had lost it
I erased this joy from my memory
I crawled into depression’s pit
And Utopia became a fantasy
To this I must somberly confess
My soul lost all of its happiness
And was filled with chaotic distress
My heart became a place of sadness
My Utopia will soon return
When I become determined
To answer my heart’s yearn
To beat this town and win
Not to be dragged down
And taken down below
Six feet under the ground
And Death taking my soul
I will face my fear and start over
I will fight through the pain
Hope will once again take over
My soul will break free of its chains
I will live on for many long years
And come back to that place of joy
I fought and won against my fear
Living is what I will always enjoy
So depressing. Poems generally come from personal emotions, or so I thought. This poem makes me think you're depressed.
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