Romanticized Indecision

I'm standing at the edge,
don't know where I'm going.
I let the wind dry tears in my eyes
and in my heart cold wind is blowing.

I clench my fists and swallow the air,
breathing out a scream.
Hoping, praying someone will hear me,
but even I don't know what I mean.

Open your eyes and wipe them dry.
Those tears will show you're weak.
Turn your soul into dead stone,
and you'll find the end you seek.

The fun is done.
There's nothing left.
So end all this.
Do what is best.
           
.....and.....

Stop the chase.
Quit the game.
Give up hope.
It's all the same.
It's always the same.

The "when" the "how,"
I plan it all.
It'll work, I'm sure.
"Why" is the only flaw.

My past is fine, my future too.
There's only this disenchantment.
It haunts my mind; it haunts my soul.
I'm tired of being better for only an
    instant.
     
...it's not enough...

You all say I'm sick,
that I've been this way forever,
and take these pills, they'll make you
    flat.
They'll make you better.

...the blackness whispers to me...

What if I will not relinquish
all the space inside of me?
So you can fill it up with poison,
to stabilize me, I'm no longer free.

...and my pain is screaming for me to...

Stop the chase.
Quit the game.
Give up hope.
It's all the same.
It's always the same.

Yet it's not because I have a choice.
It's been hidden here all this time.
I can live a chained life-
    or have a death that's free.
You cannot take the choice from me.
It's mine.

Yet all of me will not agree.
Until I'm sure, in my mind I'll stay,
smiling, screaming, planning,
but never better, I'm happy this way.