Here I am with my lonesome call,
in a room with writings upon the wall.
They say how I am dead inside,
agony thoughts, now leaning towards suicide.
The voices keep screaming, echoing in my head;
they go on telling, how I'm better off dead.
I keep running, no haven to hide;
solitude held me which I confide.
I'm hiding from my reflection, I cannot deny;
all I want, to wait here and die.
My pains are written upon the wall;
bleeding ink, I'm ending it all.
Fading dim, my life falls out of sight:
no angst upon woes for me to fight.
Truly I fall, a ghost to despair,
alone evermore, agony to bear.
A thought of “Why?” as my life was short;
was this really my last resort?
I know not for another way;
I am forevermore lost and astray.