Help! Poem by Mallory Horne

Bottling up my emotions every single day,
Feeling so numb, that I don't feel real.
Rehursing and praciting the things I would say.
While living dead inside it's hard to deal.

Pride consumes my body,
Scars make up my fleash.
Black and white is how I see.
Feeling dirty even while freash.

Can't ask for help even if I were dying.
It's a problem of mine I must admit.
I will avoid my phobia of clowns and flying.
Even though suicide is what I will likely committ.

My walls are miles high, with no signs of weakness.
There is no one I will allow even a layer in.
My skin is rough as my fingers long to caress.
I'm trying to break the wallls down, it's time to begin.