A Synthetic Soul

An End to my Sickness

Down upon my knees I find myself more weak.
Less than I have been. An uneasiness flows inside of me.
Impure in my own body, slowly losing this silent war.
Ever wondering, ever searching, but failing myself once more.

I'm powerless to stop this disease that's slowing taking from my life.
Eating at me, gnawing at my soul, growing stronger with time.
But I'll be damned before I let myself die this way.
So when I die I will die my way.

Each day passes I feel it more and more.
One step closer to death, just one more than before.
The sickness is spreading becoming more than you see.
I've put much thought as to how I want the death of my dreams.

I've been partial to my razor.
That's always been my favorite.

I extend my arm, expose my wrist.
I loved my life, and now this is it.
I take my blade and put it to skin.
I apply pressure, I think this is the end

I let it slip, I make it slide.
I cut my wrist, I think it's time to die.
Slowly blood trickles down, and onto my clothes.
I lay back in my chair and my eyes I slowly close.

I know it's only time between me and nothing.
Finding in my life I'm finally controlling something.
I feel I never lived until this moment came.
No more sickness, no more sorrow, and now no more pain.




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