Hello face… You’re there. Or a poem.

Breathing is a foreign thing
One that I would refuse
I need not this sentience
And lack great will to choose

I am broken, just a tad
Bleeding drip by drop
Faulty product to be returned
Just let the hurting stop

Tired of awakening
To this life and little else
Tired of each and every thing
Weary of pathetic self

Living just for that one day
Grants you naught but 24
And yet the irony remains
I am not fit for that much more

Years now, I have tried
To find within some form of peace
To gather courage against great wind
And from these shadows find release

Years now, I’ve tried
To withstand onslaught of the dark
Weapons ready at the call
Arrows tilted at the mark

But years now have passed
And little much has changed
I am still the mismatched set
A few more broken, no more gained.

Yet no longer do I inflict
Upon body great marks of hate
Carving with each little line
My agony at fate

And no longer I curse and sit
Waiting for dull heart to slow
Staring vacant at bedroom wall
Lost in thoughts of strange sorrow

But when in your mind you find no rest
And sleep evades you expertly
You hearken to that time again
Where despair kept you warm company

Where another you, walked side by side
With a purpose newly found
With grit and with determined stance
To jump before you drowned

While she walks here no longer
And perhaps may never do again
She watches me with malevolent eyes
And patiently calls me friend.