it's just a poem

jealousy is killing my honesty, my betrayal is taunting
why me? a question with nothing but a mark
i'm trapped in a box of white walls and white ceiling
getting out is not the end, it is only the start

i have never chose this hatred, you created it
i could have loved but you turned everything to shit
i hate your laughters and the joy they always bring
i despise your happiness, but i certainly enjoy your suffering

i want pills to cure me from this psychotic rage
i want ears to console me when depression is taking over
i need warm hands to hold me when things don't seem to change
i need the trust to assure me that i will never again suffer

i don't have a problem. it's just a poem, it does not mean anything.
no need to call a shrink or whatever.