I find it hard to say how much I'd love to fade
and slowly drift away until no one could see my face.
but every single day I see my longing, defeat, and disgrace.
Some will say that with every passing day, the shame will
lift and life will get better. But, I find that it grows and
I hate me more. From death, I am held by gold fetters.
Responsibility is all that keeps me held above, just one
gasp every day to survive. I still pray to the gods to
just let me give up, and they watch me struggle through my life.
I have to hold my hand, idle as it may be,
from tearing out both of my eyes.
So, many scars can I see
covering me
and I believe that they would look great.
Maybe make me believe that at least a small part of me
was something that I could still change.
But these scars you can't see, because
they haven't had a chance to bleed
God, I know how I'd be frowned upon.
Not for sake of myself or fear of the knife,
I stop for the sake of another's heart.
And the person I am pretends to
understand all the things that he sees in the mirror.
But you know it's a farce as I scribble on parchment
trying to ignore these screaming tremors.
Though the blood as it flows tastes like sulphur and rose
and my pain barely stays its course,
I still close my eyes and whisper inside,
"Just remember, it could be worse."