Life is strive but never will I end it with a knife cause only time can dry up the crimson that bleeds with much success,
Rather I die to try or wonder why I should lie,
Or ponder what seems to be ahead,
I walk I talk I feel nothing but a fallen silence much like my old friend darkness which clouds my mind in delusions,
Of the past sufferings I once knew and felt and breathed in like a never ending dream,
Repeating and repeating and repeating that jagged knife tears away at my head with constant precision and undaunting rhythm,
Cutting me apart from what seems to be reality and secluding me from society,
For in this realm I knew no variety,
I knew not what was wrong or what was true and false,
There lived no judge who cursed and prosecuted me with a narrow minded law,
Or chains that bound me to the wall,
For they have fallen and crumbled at my feet,
With what I knew I could only conjure a plan,
But silently another has its plan of murder in thought,
Not a murder of physical pain but a mental game,
Not tame at heart but rather wild and not sane,
For what this other wanted was for me to go insane in the brain,
And die a heartless and bitter failure that deserved nothing but the cruelty and savage anger from the maddening crowds that plot my final course,
Death,
Not a simple bullet in the heart or one through the temple but a slow and unbearable torture that only consisted of mind games,
Ranging from ones of jealousy, to hate, to love, to fear, to all that I would never dare say or preach,
For I’m no saint nor am I the devil but a simple culprit stuck in ones own desolate thoughts that never seem to move forward or toward a new goal,
But relentlessly rewind until I resign from my position as one who live’s his life.