Stuck in this deep depression of denial,
Waiting for the day of my internal revival.
Smothered by complacency,
An overwhelming intensity.
Almost done with my goodbyes,
Sickening sorrows & sparkling cyanide.
I'm a product of interest,
Put up for display.
Waging my battle of empathy
and apathy every night and day.
I am a self-destructive travesty,
Delighted in self-inflicted agony.
These masochistic realities do not stray.
They've made their home where at night I pray.
In my closet and in my mind;
They incapacitate me,
and leave me confined.
Run fast, run free.
This is what they tell me.
Run fast past the gilded bars.
I'll be free of this monstrosity,
When I can count the stars.
In the mean time, I shall wait.
For my internal revival to arrive.
For this is an intricately crafted game,
And the weak never survive.