I am the idle in suicidal.
Myself to life is detrimental.
The body housing my soul is an excruciating rental.
A lease I want so badly to leave
but if Gods the lawyer it seems my life is a contract he refuses to oversee.
Sometimes I fear going to hell for the thoughts that I speak that put this wondering mind at ease.
I'm breading toxicity after all my gifts of the present that originated in the past were always mutations of deceit and always a re-occurring surprise to me.
I'm a blank stare feeling like I never make it to progress anywhere.
They say, " life's unfair" but I think it's more of a snare dragging you to death.
If I'm honest I live there most days.
Agony you could say is hell bent when you are supposedly living,
but your spirit is dying
and your soul keeps trying
whilst your mind is forever stuck idling.
And your heart,
your hearts been stained with ink more pigmented than blue gothic hair dye.
Red turned blue from life's abuse, being misused and all the other words I could line up in a que adding depth and weight to this hellish truth relatable for the few
and I'm sorry if you do.
I am the idle in suicidal and myself to life is detrimental.
YOU ARE READING
Truthful Hypocrisy
PoetryA collection of self written poems. For the lonely, For the broken hearted, Beautiful well meaning beings looking for their own pure hearts feelings.
