[center][color=#DF0101][b]Warning[/b][/color]
This poem talks about depression and sickness. If you are uncomfortable with that, please do not read this. 
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[hider=Which Is Worse?]
Cans, bottles, and medicine, 
All stacked around me. 
One day I won’t be here to write, and contemplate 
The things that’ll never come. 


A rat in a cage, 
A lizard on rope, 
A being trapped in restlessness 

Sticks, stones, and a corpse, 
All things I think about, 
All things that seem to be equally damaging. 

Throw a stone, 
Break my bones, 
Throw a stick, 
Thoughts are always stuck, 
But show me corpse, 
And I’ll show you something worse. 

Five pink pills, 
Half a tablespoon, 
And four bottles. 
What do they have in common? 

They are all the work of someone trying to fix themselves. 
But now, they find that hopeless. 
One for the suicidal thoughts, 
The rest for a stomach ache. 


Which is worse? 

If you ask them, 
They’d say the nausea. 
They’d tell you the thoughts are something that can be tucked away, 
Even if they make for restless nights. 

The sickness though, 
That can’t be ignored. 
The endless vomiting is much worse 
Than the endless despair. 

Ask them which hurts worse, 
Thoughts or stones, 
And they’d tell you the thoughts. 

They’d tell you, no matter how much medicine, 
It doesn’t matter if you can’t be fixed.  

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