They try. They can't. They won't.

I am hurting...
I feel poetic...
But I'm just brainsick.
There's still a pain...
That's killing me again.
I felt it had left...
But it returned with more deft.

I feel upset...
By the littlest of things.
So I'm releasing my anger...
In each one of my writings.
It feels good to be honest...
To take a breath. To clear my head.
But sooner or later...
Again I'll feel dead.
Those feelings return...
Take on a new power...
They shout and they scream...
They yell and they holler...
They try to turn me...
They try to change me...
But they can't make me.
And they won't...

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