What do you want from me?
What response do you desire?
A stanza for your pride?
Or a verse for you to ply?

I keep stumbling forward,
regardless of your call.
I proceed in forward motion,
even though I wish to fall.

My desire to live onward,
only matched by my disregard to die.
My continued, empty living,
Only matched by my fear to hurt, to lie.  

I could easily just end it,
like so many before.
Yet I choose to suffer,
because suffering is real.

Reality I crave so much,
I no longer even feel.

Someday I will,
and that day will be my last.
Don’t fear for me, dear hate,
for then I will be the past,
and not matter – which I already knew.
Not many understand