Killing myself Slowly

A breath of fresh air,
in a dusty room,
a wave of hope
and yet there is gloom,
What is it that I am doing?
I probably will never know,
I'm killing myself slowly
And will forever more.

A knife of dread,
piercing a dull throbbing heart,
tearing it slowly,
I see the pieces fall apart.
Skeletons tumble out of the closet,
into my eyes they stare,
No blood no gore,
There's just emptiness there.

A wound for every decision made,
slashed wrists with every lie ever said,
the world stands still as the clock ticks,
a gaping hole where ever the conscience pricks.
A broken bone for every choice made wrong,
In a splint for anyone ever wronged,
A battered mind , none worse for there wear,
And then finally me, slowing killing myself in despair.


ps:- The myself in this note is a reference to the sense of 'being me'. This is not to be mistaken for anything else.