A mother isn't always a mother.

If I called.

A poem about despair.

You already feel sad, but you also know you'll never be truly better.

I never actually added it all up.

I spread the mortar and placed the bricks just as I was told to do. With a mold made of anger and hatred I built each individual bar.

Let it rain. Let it pour.

Pain too great. Hope long lost.

When no one cares. When everyone blames me.

Trigger warning. Detailed self harm and suicidal ideation.