Alcohol. Pain. Mental issues.
Everything wanted to speed up my death.
More alcohol. Crying. Loss.
Pain and suffering constantly whispering in my mind,
A couple minutes of relief, the loss of destruction,
Freedom only a distant dream,
Words restrain my breathing and useless syllabus fall out the cracks.
A tiny house lingers on the hill, a mirage of hope.
The thought that we should go,
Run,
Pack our things and never look back plays on repeat like a broken record.
Anger. Sadness. Fear.
Floods of emotions that shatter our souls,
A soul that is cracked, corrupt and black.
I don't know what I am or what I want to be.
They tell me to dream a little bigger,
But depression attacks me from the inside.
Failure. Disappointment. Loneliness.
A torrent of wasted hope,
A joke that makes a fool of us.
Cold. Vacant. Desolate.
The ice that pushes us foreword,
Hopeful yet hopeless,
Down a never ending road of succession.
