Fooled with derision says the memoir,
If only to feel no more and vanquish the torment of it.
Eyes looking down with strife now saddened,
It seems easier to close the door since I did my time.
How was I so wrong?
Everyone concludes I’m satisfied,
My smile sings a song.
As consequence I look my best,
But the hole remains hollow still.
Equipped for sleep but not to rest in such a way,
Only to live as I gently suffocate.
It all matters not,
The one who should care does not at all.
Living yet predominantly bereft of life,
My blood continues to flow, mocking unfavorably.