Missing

My hatred releases so much fear,
If only you could taste,
Or could you possibly hear.

Perhaps it drips down, inside of a tear,
Sadly, it drops off your cheek,
Creating a ripple, devouring your soul.

The feelings that never end,
Perhaps life is not all its made out to be,
Maybe feeling sick, a little worse than me.

Is it natural, is it wrong,
Could it be broken,
Like a song, can it be sung in simple words.

Possibly, or is this a story,
Carfuly being told, word by word,
Creating a image from what you've heard.

Some how twisted and sick,
I can't find the tools, I'll try my best,
I'll build it back, brick by brick,

Pray for my resurrection,
Hope that if I slit my wrists,
I can come back, and fix whats been missed.

Ian Robert Potapoff