Sleeplessly tiring nights,
Giving rise to self loathing.
Abominable dreams to come,
Muddled in a swirling stream,
So lonesome.
Parched throats, and shaky breaths,
Throbbing pain, and unreasoned death.
Stop gleams a bent needle,
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It’s smug end seems to rise anew.
It leads the way to sickening epiphanies.
It leads the way to the endearing doom.
Yielding to a prick of agony,
To run away from the ever so accommodating misery.
Taking a ride to a certain uncertainty of destruction.
Plunging into a powdery dough of compulsion.
Unfathomed, unkind the flow of time,
So slow to pass, its unwarranted existence, ah, such a brilliant crime.
Shivering hands, and veiny lies,
Rotten heads and pale and starved tries.
Such situational skimping, Makes up for the dimes.
Of dazed days, And wasting ways.
Search oh search, The utopia beckons thee.
Shrivelled again, Curled out by the dead birch tree.
Tattered rags clung to cold sweat,
Intentions to clean up, But a far fetched guess.
Hear me o mother, I am but naive.
Buckling into the drone, Of a sirens song.
Forgive my sins, In a world akin;
To Elysium, I go, in an hour or so.
A simple prick of a bent needle.
A rush of contentment in my veins.
O’er my self destructive breaths I mull,
In these slimy rains,
I dissolve.
