The Things We Left Unsaid

control

Why must I endure a life that feels so empty,
A life not worth living?
Even my own mind turns against me,
No loyalty, no love, no refuge in sight.
I move through the motions-work, sleep, eat-
A hollow cycle with no meaning in between.
Is there any reason to keep going
When everything around me seems devoid of worth?

No one tells me they're proud,
No one celebrates my meager achievements.
Every effort feels pointless,
A futile attempt to fill a void that only grows deeper.
What's the purpose of this endless grind,
Just to die in the end,
With no say in when or how?

Why should I wait for a death I can't control,
When I could choose one of my own making,
One within my grasp,
A release that I can wield at will?
In death, there's a finality,
A control I've never had in life.
When I die, I can finally control something in my life,
And be proud of myself,
Not wishing for others' praise.

Finally
A death worth receiving
So I can no longer be giving.