Suicidal moments rip at my wrist,

Like a tortured apparition dead bolted in space and time.

Wanting to make a choice has driven

Gaping into my mind. The mirror reflects,

Back no longer me but a contaminated cracked,

Delusion of days gone bye. The cold of,

Winter billet at my core causing me to

Turn into sin, and full of holes.

Decision ladders in casting away all feeling,

That paints me grim, living on the periphery edge eats at me.

Is the contiguous thing to not living,

Many days alacrity bye knowing,

Sooner or later I will unfastened from my mind.

Depression screams out my unhallowed name,

I have been lost to lengthy in its frozen game.

Destiny throws its hand at me,

It’s a disgrace my eyes are gaunt in,

Too shallow for me to see.

My mind pours out like a broken,

Weir trying to make me once whole again.

Compassion makes her metrical dance through,

But destiny seems to slash her down shattering her in two.

Lost in a outlying a far off sea not really knowing,

Whom I am, the instruments of war are,

often playing for me out of grasp,

as if they are out of tune…..

Inkmaster