This life is getting cold,
It's cold all around me
This life is getting cold,
The cold, it surrounds me
I shiver, I spin
Again, I'm falling
Trying to pass on—
Why can't I do it?
Need a fairy-tale-like wand—
To magically pursue it.
To erase all the pain,
Eradicate the torture
This fever is fatal,
It's brutal; a real scorcher.
The suicide flu
The deadly obsession
I refuse to give in
—Until death's in my possession
Why should I live?
Why should I bother?
For my sisters, companions
Or my mother and father?
Should I do it for myself,
Or, for you, or for them?
For God, and for peace
For all women, and for men?
For good, or for evil
Or just to be best?
Or do it for the unknown?
Should I do it for the rest?
Should I dine with evil—
Should I feed on their feast?
Should I embrace this madness?
Or should I tame the beast?
What shall I do?
What is a must?
To purify my soul—
In God, should I trust?
To conquer this thing,
I must depart
I must end the ending—
To reignite the start!
Find my new home,
In a new place
With a brand-new body
With a different face
A world unknown—
I must adjoin another.
Goodbye; my father
So long; my mother
To defeat this battle
This god-forsaken fight
I must depart from you, now,
As I face what's wrong or right
© 2017-2024 The Razor's Edge (Scarlet Fever)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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