This can't be my end
I'm imprisoned in a box and have no desire to survive there.
praying and asking God how I came to be alive.
Every night, I go to bed knowing that everything I say is a lie.
That alone causes me to break down and cry.
My father instilled in me the values of grit and overcoming fear.
My mum taught me how to love and that it's acceptable to cry a little bit.
I battle to survive every day while living in uncertainty.
Since I was a young boy, the devil has tormented me, and I am his favorite puppet. I am trapped in a death hole with no hope of escape.
I've experienced bullying, misinterpretation, and intense guilt charges.
I'm slowly but surely going insane. And the clock is ticking down to the day I pass away, and my heart and soul are crumbling; I can't stop myself no matter how hard I try.
At least from what it seems, the devil has authority over me because he frequently manipulates me like Freddy Krueger. My mother always advised me to seek refuge in the light when I was in trouble because I was reared in the church, but I'm too lost in the world and dazzled by the night.
I'm mentally unstable right now, but I'm going to keep my eyes on God because I know he can handle it.
I have lived behind a mask; no one knows or can relate to me.
They believe I am doing well, but if you look closer, you will notice otherwise.
I'm truly attempting to find a method because I love you, mom.
But the only thing you can do to assist me is to keep praying.
Sometimes you didn't pay attention to what I had to say.
That contributes to some of who I am now, but I'm moving in the right direction and I'm motivated to get there.
I used to live each day with no hope for tomorrow until you told me you loved me and everything would be well.
There were times when I felt like I was on the world's hit list and was so depressed that my face looked like death, ready to slit my wrists. I would walk with my head down, full of shame and sorrow.
It's enough pressure for a guy to commit suicide, as I feel for myself that I must provide.
My arm began to bleed as I inscribed death there.
Even though God is everything I need and want,
My heart and mind are becoming more and more stressed.
I put the gun to my head, closed my eyes, and said, "Lord take me now, I'm ready to die," wondering when my time was up and if I was prepared to die.
When I pushed the trigger but no bullet came out, I wondered whether I should already be dead.
I noticed the light when I opened my eyes.
If it was my mother, I don't know why, but a voice said I love you with all of my power and that it is not time for you to pass away.
So, as I gaze above, I give God praise for rescuing me.
You now know who I used to be and how I changed into the new me; without him, I don't know where I would be; I know it's all over; my faith has been restored; I have no thoughts of death.
When I was imprisoned inside a box, but now I'm free