Needles

It's like every night I open up this page to say something new about my unhappy state of mental illness. I try and find words to express how I feel but they all sound the same at this point. And all I'm searching for is some person who cares. Someone who understands. They don't know how lonely it is to be a kid. They can't see me under my blanket fortress the so built around my bottled up screams. They can't hear my bones tremble as I am forced to lay on the ground thinking how much easier it would be if I just accidentally died. Not by my own hand, but if I actually just died on accident. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad.