Attempts of sleep,
To no avail.
Surrounded by silence,
And silence broken,
By slow ticks.

Hands always move, always constant,
Yet, slowly coming to a close,
With never ending movement.

The clock is worn,
It’s old,
It’s exhausted. Like me.
The clock strikes four,
And I’m still here,
Suffocating in near silence.

It’s a strange muse, this murderous blue.
So many drawn to her splendor
So many drawn to their death

If time goes so slow when you
want it to go fast
why does time go so fast
when you're asleep and you
want it to go slow?

I think it's about the passage,
the one we go along with,
the message we've been given
the one we're instilled with.

Admit it,
time is light and
we emit it,
and in the dark
it has nowhere to go
so
it races ahead to
the morning
and then it goes slow.

I've written about it so many times
but my pain is still invisible,
wrapped up in beautiful words.
I wish someone would rip them apart,
revealing the cruelty of it all.
But still i'm standing here
dressed in a blanket of suffering,
trying to turn it into something beautiful,
but i've run out of ideas.
I'm trying to make you notice me,
lying in the arms of solitude,
naked, scared and worn.
I feel so vulnerable even thinking about it.
My only way to speak about it is poetry
and i've already said everything,
I'm only repeating myself.
But it's in vain,
comfort's still out of reach.

The darkness of my room,
reflects the darkness of my soul,
tears keep falling
which I can't control.

the blades are my allies,
but it won't suffice.
I just want a quick way to end this,
I just to want to be in peace.
I wanted the feeling of ease.

............I just want
I just want this suffering.......to end.