Dear life,
My simple rudimentary existence
Is ready to be
GONE.
If I’m gone,
How much pain will there be,
To equate the joyful memories?
If the world’s
an open letter,
I’m unread.
A bad ink,
Erased.
Time-worn.
I’m an empty piece
Of a shell
Living life’s own accord.
Stuck in mediocrity
Whose ambition is neutered
by self-doubt.
When I’m gone,
I’ll accept nothingness
With tacit acquiescence.
Would society remember
The chasm
of my bipolarity.
Their sardonic humors,
Smother me
to death.
Their greatness
Makes me
So small
When I’m gone,
Let them be aroused,
about my idiocy.
And thereafter,
Let them forget,
about my early demise.
Let this mortal coil,
be unwashed,
From a colossal of insecurities.
When I’m gone.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 11:25 AM UTC
Dear life,
My simple rudimentary existence
Is ready to be
GONE.
If I’m gone,
How much pain will there be,
To equate the joyful memories?
If the world’s
an open letter,
I’m unread.
A bad ink,
Erased.
Time-worn.
I’m an empty piece
Of a shell
Living life’s own accord.
Stuck in mediocrity
Whose ambition is neutered
by self-doubt.
When I’m gone,
I’ll accept nothingness
With tacit acquiescence.
Would society remember
The chasm
of my bipolarity.
Their sardonic humors,
Smother me
to death.
Their greatness
Makes me
So small
When I’m gone,
Let them be aroused,
about my idiocy.
And thereafter,
Let them forget,
about my early demise.
Let this mortal coil,
be unwashed,
From a colossal of insecurities.
When I’m gone.