There is nothing like the silence,
Of a forest,
That makes me want to commit suicide,
More than the utter every day,
Of existing alone...
One would hopefully think!
I'm not, but I am...
Just a pawn in my own mind,
A most believable scam,
Manifested by the unrealistic internally projected expectations of self I've never attempted,
Or managed to exemplify,
I'm waking every fateful day just to pretend once again to the mirror and everyone else...
That I'm not already dead.
Not even the most important person to my forever can change this fact.
It's not her,
It's something very utterly broken within my depths,
Possibly my head,
I'm remotely cognitive of this seemingly self destruction,
Yet despite not wanting to make the effort,
Parts of me will always with to be dead,
For in dying I'll forget all these expectations I've never met,
Whether self illustrate materialized yet imaginary to everyone but the... Self whose wanton to die,
The objectivity of any realization that the personalized kaleidoscope destiny of death is meaningless,
Is an unexplainable exposure,
To those already resigned to the substitute of expectation,
Which is a realm of living... While dying.
Because every single ambient thing on this sand castling earth,
Is more significant than any capacity of 'you,'
Me... I'm the mirror's reflected incapability,
To see any hope in the manifested,
A ghost living... Yet dying,
In front of me...!
0 comments :
Post a Comment