Is it bad to want to die?
To not care if I die
right now, right here?
At this very moment
In which I type
out every word
every syllable.
When I just want everything to stop.
I wish for the touch
of the beautiful gleaming blade.
I've changed.
I thought I changed.
I thought I was stronger.
In the very least,
it remains but
just a wish.
Still a wish.
I'm slipping,
I feel myself slipping.
I'm pressed for time
but I do nothing.
But useless things
which neither helps me
or guides me.
As time slips past,
the slimmer my chances of success.
Yet,
the more time slips by me.
The more I do nothing.
___
A/n:
Untainted, unconcealed words of my mind.
Raw.
YOU ARE READING
Xandria: If Diaries Were Poetry
PoetryFree verse poetry, random gibberish of snippets inspired from my day-to-day life. A public yet private journal.
