Self Destruct Poem by Bob Wrinkle

The rope on the ceiling swings like the pendulum in my brain,
Clicking in unison with all the hate I stumble upon in this world,
I slip it around my neck as I scream with agony,
Why is my brain so hell bent on destroying itself?

Is the very reality that I see through my eyes the cause,
Or is it my mind itself,
Pushing over the edgy of my own sanity and leaving me a shell of what my body once was?

Do I even want to die,
Or is it just the attention I seek in the bowels of my mind,
pulling the untainted portion of willpower into the abyss to conspire against me with its poisoned counterparts?

I don't think it's me,
But even a lie can seem a truer fact than a truth.