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An end.
Life is not meant to be so hard,
each breath a task within itself,
and that is why, I've chosen to,
hide out upon said, frozen shelf.
Someone once told me long ago,
"Oh I don't want some old has been,
it's now or never, can't you see,
I don't want rusty, I want sheen".
"well, I'm old rusty, and has been,
though I try not quote all been was,
I'd like to think, more, all I'll be,
and why, well that is just, because.
Despite all I have said or done,
despite all I may wish to be,
I do not wish romance no more,
of all such pains, may I be free?
May I walk on in peace alone,
since walking on in company,
is "far too painful to my soul",
all else would be profanity.
I wish you well and painless days,
but there's a screaming voice in me,
proclaiming you and I have failed,
and it is time that you were free.
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Poetry: Suffering
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