Sometimes I cry myself to sleep.

Wishing that someone will take me out of this deep dark hole.

I can't climb out.

My fingers scrape the sides in vain.

Take me out. Take me out.

Sometimes I look around the masses,

and feel so very alone.

If I scream, "Help",

will someone come?

I want to tear down the walls of despair,

shine brightness into the dreadfullness of depression.

But I can't. But I can't.

I need help. But who would help me?

Who has time for me?

Everyone is preoccupied.

With themselves.

With their own lives.

Which have nothing to do with mine.

Sometimes I sit in class,

watching the teacher scribble words on the blackboard.

I act interested.

But my mind, is in another dimension.

I wonder,

If someone knew what I was thinking of in that instant...

Would that person come and help me?

Or would I be shunned?

Sometimes I look out of the window to

see blank-faced buildings all around.

Reflecting the expressions of the people that built it.

They block the light.

They block the view.

They trap me.

There isn't really anyone that can save me, is there?

We're all just trying to save ourselves anyway.


A poem for the people who are lost and cannot find their way no matter how hard they try to.

They want to call for help, but they can't seem to. So this is going out to them.