Photo by planetc1
Why is it, that when I rest
I find my hands around my neck
Why are my thumbs around my throat
Why do I want to choke?
Why is it, that in my dreams
I don’t see a single thing
Why are my visions blurred?
What needs to be obscured?
Why is it, that I get these thoughts?
Even after the wars I’ve fought?
Why do my emotions turn gray?
Will my mind wither away?
Why is it, that I want to die?
What’s the joy of staying alive?
Why is it that when I cry,
Everybody turns and passes me by?
Why is it, that when my thumbs press in,
And i begin my eternal sin
As my will begins to wear thin
Why don’t I fear my end?
Why is it, that I have a lack of words
Shouldn’t it be easy to make up a verse?
Tell a fake story of my pain
My imaginary messed up brain
Why is it, that when I can’t breathe
I receive my final clarity?
When there’s no way to think,
And my life is on the brink?
Why is it, that when my vision is black
And my actions, I can’t take back
Why does my denial
Fuel my last smile?
Denial is why my hands were around my neck
Denial that life is alright
That it is worth the fight
Denial is my final thought
Why is it, that I step into the glowing red light?
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