It is a slow climb completed in moments
in leaps and bounds up the hill,
then comes the fall, crashing down,
and in a moment, all is still.

Grim realisations resonate,
repeating, recurring relentlessly.
Escape is a far fetched fantasy,
blame corrodes me shamelessly.

Every verse that leaves my mind
I hope to god this is my last,
and I can leave this genre behind
look back into the distant past.

Cries for help unanswered by those
whose voice I long to hear,
lonely in company, I shiver in the dark
not a soul to hold me near.

I wish for a bullet to run through my skull
and blow brain bits all over the wall,
or douse my self in gasoline, then flick a match,
or sometimes, my old friend, the blade does call.

I’m tired of being alright, sick of everything
to end it all, once and for all, is all that is left.
I’m tired of being told who hurts more than me,
tired of being accused of attention theft.

Dear reader, you will read this verse,
maybe even say a few words of sympathy,
but the monsters that claw at my insides
will never die, I have no use for your pity.

Death is an option
death is the best option,
death is the only option.

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2 thoughts on “The Great Fail

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