The atrocities of everyday life
Leave me disheveled and delusional
The old wooden counter, I grab my knife
Put it to my neck, I feel the pain as my fingers pull
I lie there, drowning in my carcass of regret
A smile on my face, a torn picture in my grasp
I’m not done living, at least not done yet
My weakness is unfathomable, I barely let out a gasp
My eyes open slowly, a hospital bed
Another regret seeps down into my unwilling heart
I should have used a gun, filled my brain with lead
This will only tear us further apart
The room is empty, no one by my side
I hate the feeling, I knew I’d be right
Why couldn’t this be over, Why didn’t I just die
This bitter resolve, I’ve chosen not to fight
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem