Epitome of Self-hate
The blood coursing through my veins,
Is not mine,
I am who I don't want to be,
A careless person & unattractive,
Lost without a sense of faith and direction,
Living only because my heart refuses to stop beating.
Happiness was a faint dream I fail to remember,
An phenomena belonging to a motley few.
The drunkards and the over-faithful,
And the very few,
That accept life.
Trying to make purpose out of this life isn't easy,
The humble defeat of giving up is sacred for the moment,
The moment I thrive in,
The worst is always laden in the moment to come,
Full with events that deepen my despair and self-hate,
Each tick of the clock increases the possibility of death as only a sweet agony,
A permanent release from the mental prison I reside in.
Breathing for what I could have and should have been is my past, present and future.
Achieving what one has before…
Seems hardly likely…
Surpassing what they have done is just impossible.
I'm just downright incapable!
But…
Maybe someday I will thank the Lord,
That I'm alive,
Unlikely but…
Maybe that day, I will help thousands,
And those people will thank God also.
But for now,
I stand by my emotions and actions;
Life was wasted on me.