Life

Life isn't like in books or films,

It Isn't like an anime.

It's not like plays or love songs, no,

At least not the good ones anyway.

Life isn't a fantasy novel,

Full of romance, and excitement.

There's no adventure or worthy quests,

Where good guys beat the tyrant.

Life is boring and hard.

Life is tiring and competitive.

It's painful and annoying, it's

Repetitive,

Repetitive,

Repetitive.

Full of sadness and heartache.

Life is a desperate rush for exactly nothing,

For what good does the money or status do?

Is it really worth all the fussing?

You grow and learn useless facts,

That never help in life.

And if you don't know enough,

The end result is strife.

As you grow older you work

And work

And work,

For never enough money.

You're tired and you make mistakes,

You start becoming clumsy.

You grow old, you get tired,

You ache inside and out.

You hate your life and the people in it.

And all the pain they bring about.

You hate yourself and all that you stand for.

Because really, what are you?

A speck of dust upon a dot,

You're honestly nothing new.

You think that if you work that little bit harder,

Longer,

Faster,

You may reach whatever the hell you're looking for,

You never do, but you're still tied to a master.

You grow weary and bored,

You wish and dream of excitement of adventure,

Of wide open spaces and new unfound places.

You beg and pray for any kind of pleasure.

But you never get to them.

And you never find anything new.

It's as if happiness is rationed, 

And you are in a lifelong queue.

It's all the same, day in, day out,

Work, eat, sleep, repeat over and over again.

You hate it all but how can you stop?

You don't want peoples disdain.

If you stop, that's it.

You starve and you gasp and you die.

And that can't happen can it?

But then you begin to think, why?

Why not just die?

What does it matter anymore?

After all, death is just a deep long sleep,

And you love sleep with every pore.

Sleep is the only thing you love,

The only thing you look forward to.

The only thing you give a damn about,

So, you begin to think it through.

You dwell and run it over in your mind.

And you think, why not?

Why not just sleep?  Why keep suffering?

I mean what exactly have I got?

A life I hate, with nothing to love,

I fail at every endeavour,

So why keep struggling on and on,

When I can rest in peace forever?

Why keep up this ridiculous race?

With no end in sight and never any winners?

Why not stop? Why not sleep?

Why be like the beginners?

Why not enter into rest?

Why should I have to lie?

Why pretend that I'm OK,

Why not simply die?

So you do.

You do stop.

And you plan.

From the top.

And you find the best time to do it.

And you pull them out by the box,

The cardboard boxes filled with sleep.

And you begin your "detox".

And you tug at the metal plastic sheets,

Taking out each pill,

Twirling them all in your fingers.

Each with the ability to kill.

And you toss aside the card and strips,

And you sit with your mountain of sleep,

Mountain of death.

And you pause, but you have a promise to keep.

You begin to feel calm,

Collected,

Alone in your room.

Just as you expected.

And you take your glass of water,

And put handfuls in your mouth,

Swallowing them down in their dozens,

Allowing them to fall south.

You take them batch by batch,

Whole and drowning.

You keep going, no hesitation,

You don't bother counting.

Handful, gulp, swallow,

Handful, gulp, swallow,

Over and over till not a single one remains.

But part of you feels hollow,

Because you can sense it.

Now you can't go back.

You've really done it this time.

Soon everything will be black.

And now you are alone,

Just like you always have been.

And it feels the right way to go,

Alone in death as in life it seems.

And so you set your water down,

And you climb into your bed,

And you pull the covers over,

And you lay down your head,

And you feel your eyes are closing,

And you don't resist the pull,

And you allow yourself to fall,

And you give yourself in full,

And you feel yourself slipping away,

And you give in to their demand,

And you don't care what will happen next,

And after all, this was planned,

Your flying far, far away,

Beginning to disjoint.

And you wonder to yourself,

So, what WAS the point?

If it was all to end like this,

In misery and pain.

If my life was to go nowhere,

And I was to die in vain. 

Why did I even bother, 

Why did I ever care?

Why begin and suffer through,

When help was never there.

Why wish to do things, you never can?

Why wish for something else?

Why chase dreams that can't come true?

Why freeze when it will melt?

And as you float away,

Far, far, far from life.

And consciousness leaves you,

And you begin to die, 

A tear slides down your cheek,

Though you can barely feel it.

And you let out one last sigh,

And you ask if it was worth it, 

And your last thought before you die, 

Is no, 

No it wasn't.