Poems for the Pained

A Fruitless Life

I hate the way it feels like theres nothing else.

This is what I am, I am a being of absolute want, a creature who has tasted satisfaction and never will again. It's like somehow they will appear to me on a chariot of rawhide and sinew, like they'll be handed to me with a smile and a pitiful nod.

To live this way is not to live, it is to be a prop, a design feature, a background character. All of these and more, just standing still until I can be useful to someone, something, anything. Nothing stops it, I can't stop it I want to end it all god if youre seeing this send me a pill on a platter, on a cardboard box, on the tongue of a boar if you have to but please give me some. All I want to do is lie down, my body knows the end is nearing, it's telling me to push and push and push until I collapse and we finally get a break. 

Its tearing at me inside, I can feel it. like a drillbit the size of a newborns pore is whirring at my guts, the need the craving it's so gnawing I don't know what to do but to let it hurt me, the only thing that stops it hurts more. God I cant wait for the silence of the nothingness of never existing again. please help me.