random writings.
Crying is so vain.
Lessens not the hurt nor pain,
When you're dying a little more
On the inside, every day.
What a fool I am.
So gullible, like a child taking first steps
I pitch, stumble, crumble to my knees
Hitting the ground and it feels like its
Covered in rice grinding into the skin
Finding release in the needles and itching
When the red glare of the knife cutting in flares
Again, inevitable like sun follows moon
Curling under a blanket like a return to the womb
Wishing for at least an illusion of safety, and
Nothing. White walls closing in, and
I'm shaking, heart breaking, and
THIS, Don Henley.
This is the end of the innocence.
So when Death finally comes for me, I'll say,
"Hello, there." Then, "Let's be on our way."
Lessens not the hurt nor pain,
When you're dying a little more
On the inside, every day.
What a fool I am.
So gullible, like a child taking first steps
I pitch, stumble, crumble to my knees
Hitting the ground and it feels like its
Covered in rice grinding into the skin
Finding release in the needles and itching
When the red glare of the knife cutting in flares
Again, inevitable like sun follows moon
Curling under a blanket like a return to the womb
Wishing for at least an illusion of safety, and
Nothing. White walls closing in, and
I'm shaking, heart breaking, and
THIS, Don Henley.
This is the end of the innocence.
So when Death finally comes for me, I'll say,
"Hello, there." Then, "Let's be on our way."