The Tired Engine
Seven seconds from breaking down,
the blindest of most of you could see the harm
My ice melted fast
And I no longer excite you, like your favorite spice
Calls I have to answer everytime I’m outside
Faces I have to keep happy, just for a little while
Questions I have to reply to, even when I feel like dying
And coldness from your hands to my body touch
Like the snow you mentioned on the mountains
Everywhere there’s trouble, but no place like my heart
Ticking like a time bomb, ready to explode
To faces I wouldn’t mind hurting
Behind a wheel I have to stand
This how I spend my Wednesdays
A teacher cold and not understanding
Asking me to go faster and faster
I remember crying on the passenger seat
He drove me crazy bout how much he pressured me
He saw the bear and kept poking it
And kept asking why I act crazy
On my thirteenth lesson, I was back on track
Took him to the highest hill of the town
Driving with the confidence of a race driver
Still he wasn’t satisfied with any of my efforts
Group project at university with people who won’t lift a finger
Or if they do, they demand applause
Always busy with their jobs to contribute, never too busy not to judge
While my fingers cramped by typing everything we needed
Provided every information the group needed
One of them tried too, yet didn’t do it enough
Another contributed only to destroy my opinions
Class felt like I was ten again, with snickers behind my back
Knew since February twenty fifth I was going to crash
I’m sorry for acting mentally crazy
I’m accused for being bipolar for simply expressing my opinions
I can feel my hair turning grey due to anxiety
No energy left in my body
I feel drained every second of the day
My insides are filled with dread
My head is with worry
Yesterday my anxiety felt like a heart attack
And to you I will admit, I wouldn’t mind dying
I wouldn’t mind not being needed every minute of the day
I wouldn’t mind if a single soul never uttered my name again
Another part of me thinks I’m paranoid
I do not cope with criticism, even the one under this poem
I am hostile, like a beast whose house youve invaded
I’m aggressive like a Spartan you recently offended
I’m argumentative too, like the lawyer my mother wanted me to be
Another person types on the group chat
Another form of criticism about to hit my poor, poor head
So far only reactions, not one form of action
How long till I break?
How long till I can’t drag myself out of bed?
How long till the man I love no longer can stand me?
How long till I greet death with a kiss?