Trapped

I don't even know what this is, so I'm calling it a poem.

I am trapped in these four walls.

They are made out of glass.

People can see me and I can see them.

People choose not to see me.

I am running out of air here in this box.

No one tries to break me out.

I'm too scared to ask for help.

How hard is it to see someone is hurting?

In an out burst of desperation, I bang on the walls.

Now people ask what's wrong.

You don't ask someone what's wrong when they are already dead.

You should have asked when I was dieing.

Author's Note

I know...everyone has felt like this before...please don't put that if you comment...it seems like you are deminishing my efforts and feelings...i don't give a crap if you've gone through this too, it's not about you.