How hard it is to really live your life
when all your fears in your mind are strife;
the fears that keep you hidden in your room
afraid to leave in case those fears become realised in all it's gloom.
Like the skies I cannot hold the pressure, feeling so very snowed under;
With my mind in turmoil and at the end of my tether, I'm ready to explode just like the thunder.

A little ball of fluff with eyes so bright,
in a time of darkness she is the light,
little Luna with her loony ways,
so loving; her fiery soul ablaze.

Tiny little paws pattering on the floor,
as she whimpers and barks at me to play some more;
she gives the best cuddles I've ever known,
and kisses my nose, giving me all her love - I don't feel so alone.

My favourite family member by far,
Luna is my little star.
With a heart of gold and a soul so pure,
she's my best friend whom makes me feel secure.

When my victim wakes up in the morning, I am by his side,
he know me all too well so I have no reason to hide.
I smile sinisterly at him and tell him he is weak,
lazy, disgusting and convince him that his future is bleak.
I shriek that he's not trying hard enough;
and I make him feel worthless and rough.
I constantly whisper that he is broken and beyond fixing,
"you are undeserving of love" I can't help but keep hissing.
My lies destroy him beyond compare,
and to my delight he is full of despair.
I crush his world into infinite emptiness - I know it's uncalled for -
then give him a plan and say "ssh baby, nothing matters anymore".
I slowly cut off his friends and family so they cannot save his life,
and soon enough I make him go to the kitchen to pick up a kitchen knife.
I convince him suicide is the only way out of this mess,
and cutting vein by vein he takes his life after a long while of distress.

Oh how I love to sit,
drink tea and to a book commit.
To be taken into a beguiling imaginary place,
where anything is possible if only we embrace.
A true escapism from all of life's horrors,
we become the character's explorers.
It can be a despondent journey across the pages,
as I continually ponder what my life has become for ages.
I realise all the characters that I will never be;
recognise the adventures I alone will never see.
Although, it can be a beautiful experience if we read between the lines;
because we discover who we really are and build on virtues as we read the signs.

What do you do when it comes to the oxymoron
of being tired of living, too weary and weak to carry on,
yet being far too terrified of growing your wings with death
and being too petrified of taking your last breath.

When he caught you staring he would smile
and say that everything was fine, meanwhile
he hid drawings made by a blade under his sleeves
and had stockpiles of "magic" pills, more than ready to leave.

It wasn't until he departed this Earth that everyone recognised
they should've known he was lying, if only they'd realised
every time that he said he was fine,
he was dying inside; oh so confined.

There is always a longing bittersweet
euphoria when I spiral out of control in just a heartbeat;
when nothing is in my hands anymore,
a special kind of freedom that I have longed for.