SUICIDAL NEURASTHENIA
- May 29
- 1 min read
By VaadMyst
Morning oozes with pus — I lie crippled by weakness,
Twisting in bed, crying amid dead dreams.
Under depression’s whisper, dawn proclaims despair,
From the filth of being — poison seeps into my blood.
Time doesn’t heal. The past still rots inside,
Under the shroud of loneliness, my strength dried out, feeding necrosis.
The awareness of joyless life grows like mold,
And depression’s whisper is sung by a ghostly choir.
Crows scream, taking off in a devilish swarm,
Into the leaden sky, crushing down my chest.
Mad pain — a butcher — mutilated my soul,
Like my dead garden, where all paths are lost.
Despair clutches my throat with crooked branches,
My pleading scream drowned in cold rain.
In the howling wind — the sorrow of irreversible loss,
Dead and ugly — the face of my hollow life.
From grief and despair, I cut its thread-veins,
Their tortured moan — the death song of my collapse.
Through hopelessness, bitter tears stream down,
Steps lead into the dark — echoing the drip of melting ice.
The heartbeat fades — a dead thud in the void,
With the final breath, faces and days disappear.
Darkness coils by the halls of death, waiting in silence,
As the worthless remnants of my life flicker out…