Just Write.

There are nights where I sit here and ponder this crazy world I'm living in. Is there any reason? I've already found the rhyme. Not what I had hoped for. The cyclical rhythm of third grade poetry; always ending the same. The water slowly filling my cage has me gasping for breath. It's another one of those times I beg for death and soon find air. Maybe I'm not okay. Maybe I like it that way. I have nothing to say, I just love the sound of my fingers sweeping across the keys. I hope you don't mind. Tonight I'm writing for me. I feel so tired. I wish I was more than what I am. I'm so sick of dreaming, I feel like drowning. The pretty girl is lost, dead, and buried. I'm all that remains. Pull the trigger and watch me explode. He holds the gun to my head and swears it's out of love. Just kill me already. But with each dying wish I fnd another breath. Someone won't let me go. What's purpose? I'd really like to know. My voice goes unheard. My cries fall on deaf ears, unanswered. I'm gone. I'm never coming back. Come to me. Save me. If you can find me. It should end here. I should walk away, walk back. I can't. I'm not even sure I want to. I can go on faking just a little longer. I'm letting go of everything that matters. Pushing away and hoping nothing pushes back. I'll let myself fall into this oblivion. Will it ever end? These words mean nothing. Useless phrases and paper-thin cliches strung together in some semblance of order. Read it. Hear it. It means nothing.