His mind is fucked over,
He doesn’t know what to do.
His thoughts are scattered all over,
But that’s nothing new.
His state of mind hasn’t been at rest,
He hopes his lungs take their last breath.
It would take this burden off his chest,
This beautiful word called death.
He’d rather not resort to such,
As painless as it sounds.
He knows that few love him much,
So those few keep him around.
So while he is at home,
He sits in the darkness of his room.
He goes into his mind and roams,
Trying to free his mind of doom.
The fatal mind-space in which he is confined,
Is just beginning to take its toll,
He can’t just get rid of this mind,
For it just impales him with its control.
He comes to but one conclusion,
This mind of his must be harshly scarred.
It may be a mere illusion,
So he keeps his mind ajar.
He throws all his thoughts to the side,
He makes them all temporally go away.
He just runs and hides.
He saves all the emotions for another day,
So he can still have pride.
He can only see one way to escape,
He doesn’t like the shit he must take.
Suicide is the way to end this game.
But he won’t hit the brake,
He will stay alive and act as if these thoughts never came.