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.