paint a picture

time groans slowly
like a rusted door
that only revolves
and never closes.

i wake (if i sleep)
to face the day
of pain
with a soul on fire
to escape.

and so i wait it out
til i might sleep again
to face another day
of the same.

my heart holds
every suffering
that has ever been told
and all that i can imagine.

for a creative mind
it’s such a torturous crime.
a reality absolutely unbearable.

the worst is knowing
that when i go
the same pain
that tears me apart
will remain undisturbed
by my passing.

if for a thousand years
i could face the deepest bowels
of hell
i would
if it might save some helpless thing
from the nonsensical wrath
of suffering.

perhaps that’s why
i suffer now.
if i could believe it,
it would give me strength.

i believe it’s more than
ever did for me.

is playing the martyr any better
than  …..well,
i simply
don’t know what i am now.

if i had one wish
it would be for all of existence
to come to an end
all at once.
in one moment.

no heaven or hell.

no graves no pyres.

i suppose i should feel
for wanting to free myself
from guilt
by destroying every single thing.


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