Alone,
alone at home in the bathroom,
he headbutts the wall,
and he does it again,
and he screams and he calls,
and he shouts at his invisible friends,
the voices in his head that are so hard to comprehend,
and he cannot get them to shut up,
and they will not cease, on that he can depend,
and he does not want medication if he can help it,
but he is failing to get the voices inside his head to end,
and he no longer can pretend that he is getting better,
and it is a constant battle that never ends,
and as he looks in the mirror,
and the blood pours down his head,
he cries countless tears,
countless tears,
ruing his life and the misery inside,
the misery inside caused by his invisible friends,
his mental illness causing him such distress,
leaving him in such a mess,
and not many truly understand,
including his family who do their best,
and as he stands in front of the mirror and prays to God,
he sobs and he cries,
and wishes he was dead; he wishes he was dead.