Suicide Song

If there would be a lever to delete the existence,

I'd surely pull it with ease on heart.

To be forgotten, shred to fragments no one sees,

Vanish from all remembering minds

To be freed from voices and memories, from will,

... From will itself.

It slays merciless, wounds the ego and pride,

The dissapointment which is far to common.

I loathe to admit this emotion, it's a weak uttering,

For it casts dishonor upon my shoulders.

Yet why hold head up high, when there is nothing,

Nothing... To keep alive.

These grounds are just of a pithless, grey tomb,

Simply awaiting my ominous fall.

Even though I hold no grudge for death itself,

I cannot help but not wanting it,

In a world like this, in a grave as ugly as this

The thought of becoming one with it,

It's petrifying, horrifying, discouraging and deterrent.

... Yet what matter does it make,

 When I'm dead as a stone, dead as the frosted branch,

As dead as the wandering beings roaming this earth.

I cannot see what is beneath that shell, that moving,

Sounding, yet deaf and blinded, hollow structure.

I am not empty, and that is my greatest woe,

... The calamity of the mind.

I yearned for freedom, yet what does freedom give?

Other than hatred, envy and solitude...

And yet no one survives in an isolated womb

Where the hatred and envy grows from you

There is nowhere to leap, there is no path for me,

.... Other than a silent carve off the throat.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed