I don't want to exist.
Life is a prison, a cage
that I am trapped in
until the day when
I am finally six feet deep.
Sorrow weighs me down
like a perpetual anchor,
nothing ever relieves an ounce
of its weight.
I don't understand why
I am like this, or why I hate
my body and myself every
single day that I draw breath.
But I do know one thing:
that this existence is one
of meaningless sorrow.
My self-hatred and discomfort
with my body hinder me from
living a normal life, it's so bad
that I can't stand to breathe
or acknowledge that I exist.
I know that things will never
get better because they never do,
these thoughts and feelings
prevent me from doing anything
to change my situation.
I hate my entire existence,
it would be better for everyone
if I simply didn't exist,
But hopes and wishes never come true.
But even so, I still wish
that I didn't exist, that I will
quietly die in my dreams,
even if I know that it will never happen.
This life is a prison,
weighted down with sorrow,
I don't want to exist.
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PoetryWhat happens when your own thoughts betray you and you have nowhere else to turn? This is my story, and I will not let this sadness be the death of me, so I'll take this pad and pen and express what's mine.
