Isn't it funny how his blood smells like his blade.
It must be the metal, quantum level the same.
Every possibility in time lead to this line.
A faceless man writing this rhyme.
In a world so messed up he thinks it's his fault.
Turning to drugs, he lost all his hope.
And now sits alone worrying how to cope.
Can't stop smoking dope.
He never visioned he'd be happy,
And it shows.
These days are so hard to get through now,
Knowing what was before makes it worse somehow.
I tried my very best but still let you down,
My soul is now worth less; Now that i'm alone.
My heart it breaks, I see your face in every dream I have.
A mind it makes everything we go through feel so bad.
Bad is my middle name, Mark for short.
Mark is a Dad, here no more.
Not accident or tragedy could take him from me.
He one day decided he deserved to be free from me.
Free was my life, bestowed upon thee.
Free from this life I wish I could be.
I don't want to off myself, that's not right.
I don't look after my health, a slow suicide.
Death in a hospital bed.
My breaths begin to shallow, vision getting narrow.
My heart is beating weaker, machines beeping faster.
My blood's getting cold.
I've wanted to die my whole life,
Not now that i'm old.
— The End —