I'm stuck, I can't move.
Yet I walk myself to a job, that I don't enjoy
I'm stuck, I can't move.
Yet I work hard at my job, as it slowly consumes me.
I'm stuck, I can't move.
Yet I walk myself back to my apartment through a city that I hate.
I'm stuck, I can't move.
Yet I flip a switch, as a dim light barely illuminates the room.
I'm stuck, I can't move.
Yet I microwave my frozen dinner, to let it cook.
I'm stuck, I can't move.
Yet I sit in sorrow, watching a show that doesn't bring me any joy.
I'm stuck, I can't move.
Yet I cry myself to sleep, knowing I'll be stuck tomorrow too.

His whole life unfolded like a well written manual, everything was planned, his own design,
In a search for feelings lost in time,
His own guidance was the anchor that kept his ship ashore,
One day he had planned to not guide himself any more,
To reel in his anchor and float into the deep sea.

One day he had planned to let himself be guided by the darkness that swallows all,
His death was all but accidental,
His death was all but unplanned,
He wanted control over his entire life and so his death was a part of that.

He had written his letters,
Though he doubts the words will ever seek to be read,
He had cast aside the schackles of his labor,
The one thing where he had no control, And he had sold his house to a newlywed couple,
They had something he had never planned on achieving.

Now he had taken a lift up 9 stories high,
Up a building he had always admired from afar,
A piece of architecture he could always appreciate.

He stands with his toes over the ledge,
Most hesitant when faced with a leap this far,
But he had planned to make it quick,
So he jumped and fell,
He had planned for it to be cold,
For it to be fast and swift,
Yet he could've never planned on,
The view from halfway down.

As if time had stopped,
All the feelings that he thought he had lost reveal themselves stronger than he had ever planned on,
He didn't want his life to be over,
He never planned on this feeling.

And before he could exclaim to God for mercy,
Just as he had planned, the concrete made him meet his end.

There he is, floating around the river Styx, abandoned by the helmsman, left to wander alone.

His soul in despair as he tries to find his way to shore, but the river Styx is endless, no way to escape the waters embrace.

In a pool of lost souls, lonely and cold, floating between the others, each lost in regret.

He wanders for ages as the souls, filled with anything but clarity, meet his eyes with gazes deep as the underworld goes.

Until he meets a wise soul, who seems to have found her way, looking to guide any others that only stray further away.

The beacon of hope, the soft voice he lost along the way.

She says: "Another manipulated soul, deceived by her twisted embrace.

Promised peace and warmth, only to be shackled by anguish and disarray.

Endless questions, dwelling in those lost eyes, no guiding hand, a restless mind.

Wander the river Styx, to the waters where sorrow seeps.

The answers you seek, lie shrouded by mist, in their embrace your shackles will shake,

As freedom unfolds you'll find within yourself a flicker of hope, only then will you be able to escape,

The River Styx."

I've come to peace with darkness,
An eternal embrace, my only wish,
With the end drawing near, I long to talk
To the bringer of death, her whispers soft.

Her warm embrace: What I've always sought,
In the shape of white circles, small and cold,
I take a breath, deep and slow,
Before burning liquid flushes my final wish down my throat.

Now I wait for her to draw near,
To feel her presence, to silence my cries.
But as she lingers, my heart starts to race,
A longing for her eternal embrace.

Why this anxiety? Shouldn’t I feel warm and calm?
She stands at my door, her arms open wide,
But something inside me holds onto the last spark of life,
The flicker of hope that won't let me be taken.

It's not too late: I grasp for the phone,
A plea for another chance.
In shadows, I tremble, the impatient helmsman waiting to cross the Styx.

So I’ll call for help, let the sirens wail,
A soft voice answers the call,
I can't respond,
My wish has taken hold of me and won't let go,
My eyes close shut as darkness is all that remains,
A slight echo of that soft voice is heard in the distance,
But halfway the river Styx,
The soft voice is drowned out by the lost souls seeking peace,
Whom I am soon to join.

He stood in his black jacket, 
a cold grey breeze making his skin shiver 
as his shoes touched rusty metal, 
his feet vibrating from the light 
that promised peace, a pleasant feeling. 

It drew closer, 
each second the sound growing louder, 
his body trembling with every movement the light made. 
He glimpsed it brighter to his right, 
but where was the sound? 

Only his inner voice echoed, 
he knew he wanted this, 
but why did he hear only himself screaming? 

The light was near, 
he must move, yet he was stuck. 
This was his chance, his peace, his freedom, 
all he had ever longed for. 

But as he resolved to act, the light passed, 
angels’ faces flashing by, eyes wide with shock, 
and in an instant, his life slipped back into his grasp.

He seeks the blood of Jesus to silence the screams, 
a fleeting calm before the roar returns, louder than before. 

His body, worn and weary from addiction's grip, 
the screaming intensifies as he gazes outside, 
where only clouds loom and trees stand lifeless. 

He can only pray his body will allow him to move today, 
that the light will guide him this time, 
and that the angels will open their arms wide. 

What will still the screaming, 
what will reveal the vibrant colors others see? 
Though the light may lead him away from the screaming and the dead trees, 
It blinds him completely, leaving only darkness.