Let me walk and think of ways to dry my tears.

Compassion and hate are my only ways to be here.

Let me be your freedom and daylight will shine through, for me and you to be free is a price to be true.

In January I’d take a gun and shoot it through although I’d bleed till may.

The sun would rise the morning after, and you’d see my fate.

your tears would fall though so have I and sprout a willow tree where my body lies.

My room would stay the same as when the bullet hit

 except for the match on fire, I knew you would have lit.

I hate the fact that I used to know you.

As I raise my gun and say “thank you” to the black and white speckled sky

 I stop.

I know this won’t set me free from my cruel fate I’m destined to live but the desire in my heart to be dead out-weighs any desire to

Stay.

I’ve prayed time and time again to not wake up, to go to sleep and dream forever, to let my already rotting corpse be crushed by the pressure of

one

simple

bullet.

God doesn’t answer my pleas.

“Oh god, why must I suffer time and time again.”

Empty night responses only with wind.

To let yourself fall is to trap a rabbit in a cage with wolves,

To limit oneself to death is to throw an already lit match into gasoline.

You can’t escape what thoughts you have left at the end of the night. Many have tried. Now their body rests underground instead of a roof.

I’ve cried for many others who have no will to cry.