The real me flushed down the drain,
Now I'm a dead corpse chained to someone's dream.

For all the good deeds, the times I made them proud,
They repay me with hate.
I wish this wasn't the fate.

In a state where silence starts to speak,
And the mind is weak, and no one to seek.

To love or be loved—I don't know which is harder,
Neither me nor my words speak louder.

The desire to end it all overrides, Hope,
Love, and The meaning of life.

Even if I did end it all,
My death wouldn't gain as much attention as a single drop of rain.

My dead corpse wants to be alive again,
Just like hoping for rain on a peak summer day.

In the end,
My thoughts suicidal,
My body weak,
But with a little hope
Where someone's love on me shall leak.