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what is a title

i wander through life as if i'm not already on my third chance.

mental illness ruined me-

it's made me turn friends into poetry

when i should be holding them close.

these words don't love me, don't tell me what i need to hear.

these words are just empty relics.

his name was stop,

and her name was go

and this confusion eats at my brain

like a parasite.

i can only write when i'm suffering;

why can't i fill up these pages with love?

my poems are all depression and loneliness-

all about past summers and pain.

Author's Note

i can't think of a title?? that's really all i need help with rn