These weeks and days seemingly pass by,
Easily within a blink of an eye.
Everyday is stagnant, each second is adamant,
To not go in a second, but to stay and reckon,
The peaceful thoughts, it has erupted fine,
Within the painful slots of corrupted times,
Waking up in the morning just to go to bed
Rather than living this way I'd prefer death instead
When the silence speaks, the violence becomes obsolete
The license to squeal gets rather inutile completely.
I'm fighting myself, writing dichotomous stories,
One where I'm well, while the other version is enraged in fury.
It's tough to decide, who wins inside,
It's rough to determine, do I live or die.
Starting again from scratch,
I can't believe I'm again on this track,
I let myself go down,
Non intentionally but knowingly somehow.
I'm tired of running away,
Thought I had it all figured out,
I've stopped to chase,
The dreams that I was once mad about.
Maybe I am my own enemy, I kill myself obnoxiously,
I have grown sick of the heavenly feeling that I've chased tirelessly.
In the entirety, I am the flower that dies early,
This garden of Life discarded me, maybe in my fate I had fatality.
In a forest field, my branch of thoughts get mixed between them.
Which of the trunk is mine, I fail to root back to the stem.
The trees of hope I grow and let them die in self loathing,
Proves to be annoyingly difficult everytime, because it's disappointing.
The only difference is that I wish myself hell and well and life with good intentions,
We both wish for the same, but one never could come right back with new conventions..
It's only a how's town and not goes' town, coming back from there is never an option for any being.
Like the house towns seen as ghost towns as the exact same thing.