He chirps his last voice,
Clinging onto limbo,
Awaiting his judgement;
The caged.

Shackled by his thoughts,
Bound to torture by choice,
Sulking on putrid grace,
A monstrous mongrel, indeed!

"He is but but a wasted chronicle!",
"Letting himself be battered!";
"Why is he so weak?!",
"Why does he strive to live then?"

They cannot see,
They cannot understand,
The imbecility he does,
Has a grim reason behind it.

His demons cackle in his head:
"Die, you oaf! Lay lifeless in your cowardice!"
He struggles to become whole;
He struggles to be fine.

He screams silently:
"Help me end this sadness!",
He cyphers his voice over vision,
He cyphers his voice over words.

He reaches his hand out,
Hoping someone to answer;
He is beaten black and blue,
Yet he tries to plea.

As his voice begins to fade,
As his body lies down, helplessly,
As his mind goes blank with darkness,
As his hope is violently eradicated.




















*Please. Help. Me.