I hate living
In this endless,
Cyclical world.

It tires me...

The constant abuse
Of inspiration,
Loved ones...

It's all monotone.

Still, my breath hitches
In that split second
Before the metal hits my skin.

I cry out for help, no one's there.

I wish I could cry,
But It's all the same.
Always has been, to me.

My life lacks colour.