In a brief, a short poem, hastily typed. |
When life's empty and pointless and hurts like Hell And your body feels as only a shell And the wavering screams of dying souls in your ears Manifest themselves as your tears But you wipe your eyes and realize That the echoing cries are your own As you die inside. When life's empty and pointless and sucking you down And it's all you can do not to drown And the unholy screams Of vivid ghosts in your dreams Are wreaking havoc on your mind And you can't seem to find A way, a sign. When this life doesn't do for you all that you'd hoped And you feel like there's nothing left than to let go And you're planning and plotting, at the end of your rope 'Cause the noise in your head stopped the day your mind broke And the silence isn't peaceful (as they so often wrote) And because of this, all of this, you can't go on So you plan and you plot and you must go through With this God-awful plan that will end what is you And as you're about to decisively do What will turn into the one, last, final fuck you- Stop. Because of the ones who care. And worry and stress and nearly pull out their hair Wondering why nothing they do or they say Is helping you not to feel this way. They think "is it me? Is it my fault that she Thinks nothing is worth living now?" So for once think of someone Who isn't yourself 'Cause when life's empty and pointless and hurts like Hell And your body feels as only a shell Nothing your mind makes you think that you know Is worse than the life that is hurting you so. So live it- And don't let it go. |