The cycle of life
Looking out my bedroom window,
I see the rain on a sunny day.
And though the sunlight blinds me so,
This darkness suffocates me and it won’t go away.
From dusk comes dawn yet sleep evades me,
Whilst these demons and ogres continue to invade me.
Yet my struggles and screams go unseen, unheard,
Why do I still try to fight them, it’s obscene, it’s absurd.
Everyday I continue to 'fight’ my depression,
But what’s the point when I feed it with my fucked up obsessions?
See they make me feel better, but they make my demons stronger,
It’s an endless cycle of suffering, and I can’t ride this bike much longer.
It’s rusting at the wheels and I’m losing my balance,
I cut my own brakes; self-destruction’s my only talent.
Now I’m waiting until I inevitably crash,
Then I’ll burn and return just to dispose of the ash.
So I’ll leave not a trace of my pitiful existence,
Not a trace of the psycho people stare at from a distance.
Not a trace of the decaying debris I shamefully call my life,
Not a trace of the scars of hatred I carefully carved with a knife.
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