A Hope in Hell
Why can't these thoughts let me be? They attack cloaked and hidden from all perception except feeling and make me feel trapped. Constricted, as if I'm being suffocated by an Anaconda who's sole purpose is to kill. But that's the Irony of it all because each day I wish for Death and it hides from me as if I'm not worthy of it. And these thoughts don't subside. My skin craves for Whisky to subdue the force of perception and hide from their venomous attacks but I'm denied it by hypocrisy which itself drowns each day in it self-created hell. It screams at me asking not for freedom but for reason to which I have no answer. So I lay there thinking if it can't end, then can I at least find a glimpse of Death . Just a small window for me to breath through from this vacuum of life. Just a cut from a thread of infinite pain. If only someone could cut away at me so these scars which are covered in a bloody disguise, unimaginable to the ambiguous arseholes who den...