A clinch of ten fingers onto a lonely bed sheet,
Circulation begins to ****** drastically,
A hooded figure suspended over me,
I'm exhausted,
Foam at my mouth begins to secrete.

Should've known or at least taken a thought,
Making no attempts to cleanse my poisoned mind,
This abused heart can't stand much more,
A state like this I've never been before.

Judging by my loss of gratitude,
The chickens have come home to roost,
What some may call karma,
I call a blessing,
A lifetime of dreading the one form of peace,
I'll ever encounter in my time.

All I'm seeing now is black,
And they won't turn back the clocks,
No matter how much I beg and plead,
They're just letting me die alone in my socks.