Why can't I do what I want to?
I've tried but I doubt I'll make it through
I want to exterminate myself 'till I'm cold and blue
Give me a rope and I'll make it true
Ending this understated life
To depart to my personal high-rise
That's waiting for me like a couple of spies.
No more having to deal with being alone
Or always annoying people and being wrong
Being dead is my destiny and I knew it all along
Only time I feel real is when I'm writing this poem
I'm tired of trying to be your illusion of satisfaction
I just want to kill myself to avoid further interaction
With people like you, who make death my fatal attraction
I'm on the "highway to hell" and my tires lost traction
I can't stop writing this because this pen is my heart
It's been fueling my rage from the very first start
But this is my way to try to not fall apart
And it's helping me, at least for the most part.
This poem is so real to me, it's my personal masterpiece
Dedicated to all the people who want to rest in peace
Because we are tired of people saying we are dried up grease
That's why I'm going to be in bliss when I cease to exist
Don't want to take part in your daily routine
I don't want to so rich I drive in a limousine
Don't want to so poor I eat nothing but saltines
Want to be in a world where there's no money and all hands are clean
Where time is an illusion that's known to everyone as obscene
Where every single day could be Halloween.
I guess that's just my own personal Shangri-La
Like waking up early and going fishing with my grand-pa
Or swinging on a swing he made with only wood and a handsaw
I feel trapped in these memories but they are so raw
And I can't escape them because that's the only time I felt loved
I actually had a family that I was a part of
But my mom decided for us to give up love for success
And now she wonders why I'm always depressed
Maybe it's because when we moved, my heart got compressed
Ever thought I needed my family instead of being alone in the U.S?
But it is too late, the damage is done
And now I won't be satisfied until I'm gone
I would stab myself in the heart but I have none
And now these sleeping pills are making me yawn
I hope that I don't make it until dawn.
I wrote this poem about 3 years ago when I was still attending high-school. I hope you liked this poem. More to come soon. Thank you for reading
Labels: chance, cope, dark, depressed, expression, form, free, new, pathos, poetry, russia, unique, vagner