Deadline Poem by Ella Sutherland

If I can't open up to myself,
then how can I be expected to relax with anyone else,
When the door shuts on my happiness and my sadness engulfs me,
The blindness of my sight carries me into misery, normality is no longer free,
Apparently it costs £8.50 to be like everyone else,
distilled sadness dispensing health,
My words are audible when drenched in smoke and wine,
A momentary stop in my death deadline.