Band-Aids Can't Fix This

I'm sick and tired of it!
I do my best all the time!
I do what I have to do.
No matter how much it makes me cry and throb inside.
I feel like no one cares.
No one sees the effort.
I do it, and do it, and do it until I'm sweating and sobbing and shaking.
I get filled with such sorrow, fury and hate, that I cannot see.
Everything starts to spin.
I twitch and grope at the rope that drags me through glass to reach my salvation.
But every inch closer I crawl,
Some unseen hand pulls it farther away.
Laughing at my tears, my sweat, my blood.
It makes me sick, it's not worth it.
I'll find relief; I get up off my knees,
Brush off my clothes, and the blood from my face.
Then I go away.
I leave your laughter, your joy.
All the fighting and trying is pointless.
It's like trying to walk through a wall.
Your bony, pointy hatred still pokes me,
No matter where I go to get away from it.
I cannot run, no matter how fast my legs move.
I cannot hide, no matter how dirty I'm willing to get.
It's all a game to you, a trick to see how far you can push me.
I'm over the line now; it's my life that is lost.

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