Sick

I'm sick.
my life wasn't supposed to end ike this.
Dying to live, living for death.
Don't let live and forget,
make chances, always ask why,
take cold showers,
eat fast your food...just don't swallow.
I'm the victim of foulplay, foreplay,
the mind games men play.
A broken bone, broken too often cannot heal back.
Think quick:
A young girls heart, the damage done,
never again will rise her sun.
Shadows of death around her
blocking the rays like an atom bomb's
smoke blowing over kosovo's line.
Six feet gone,
maggots and beetles on her sweet flesh dine,
human worms in mealy slime.
You smile as you take my hand,
asking "dear, will you play the fool again?"
crying, sobbing, weeping uncontrollable
tears of passion, love, and remorse...
knowing I will as you trod upon my heart
like a gallant white horse.
I pass away in the night,
into myself and out of your sight,
out of your world,
away from your heartless slander and cruel remarks.
I reach up and take in my hand
the rope on which I've strung my heart upon
and try to pull myself to
where I won't choke,
kicking and gagging for breath.
I keep pulling yet I know when I,
if I ever,
reach the top,
you'll be waiting there to severe this thread
of hope for peace and estacy
and push me back into the dark hole
of my
sO
CalLed
liFe.