Thoughts feel like flying bullets
Just shot from a gun of uncertainty.
Instead of just going out,
And doing something to alleviate it,
I just keep pacing, being wounded 
By these thoughts.
I could take the medication,
But that would be losing.
I have to figure out how to
Deal with this on my own,
Like everyone else.

I am starting to hate myself
Because I cannot figure out life.
If these bullets persist,
I fear I’ll bleed out.

But then again,
What don’t I fear?
Death is a fear I have
Equivalent to walking to the mailbox.

I just have to muster the courage
To choose walking to the mailbox
And every other daily task
Over letting myself bleed out.

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