I'm swinging.
As the autumn leaves chase each other on the dark pavement of this chilled night,
I'm swinging.
I'm glancing around at what I can and noticing no one is out, just me and the leaves.
I'm swinging.
Replaying the last argument I had in my head over and over.
I'm swinging.
I glance at the moon in hope of some sense of company but I'm left with nothing but empty loneliness.
I'm swinging.
I thought once I got to this point I should be somewhere else, feel something else... But
I'm swinging.
My body runs cold and my eyes won't shut.
I'm swinging.
No mobility and no sense of warmth.
I'm swinging.
I realize now that there is no end.
I'm swinging.
The sun arises and the people shuffle out of their warm homes.
I'm swinging.
I'm eventually cut down, I see everyone's reactions and their fake tears. But why do I still feel like
I'm swinging.
I'm redressed and pampered up but I still feel as if
I'm swinging.
The horror as they glue my eyes closed, knowing the only thing I will see for eternity is the back of them.
I'm swinging.
I hear the hushed voices above me, all pretending to have had such a great life with me in it.
I'm swinging.
I hear the shut of my coffin and being rolled into the back of the hearse.
I'm swinging.
I feel the swing of them lowering me in the ground on which pounds of dirt will hide this pointless expensive coffin.
I'm swinging.
And here I am. Alone with my thoughts, the one thing that drove me to this point, the one thing I found I'll never escape, and I'm still swinging.