Dear Life,

How many battles must I fight,
with every cell and all my might,
till crimson clouds eclipse my sight?

My years have turned to waste,
my tears the only thing I taste,
for that sinful step I took in haste.

I’m shouting through the falling rain,
yet no one hears or feels my pain—
my past, a shadow steeped in vain.

My heart is filled with piercing thorns,
my ears still ring with narcissists’ horns,
while tears and sweat my soul adorns.

Winter came, piercing every night,
only to deepen my endless plight—
white upon white, the world turned white.

Death now seems my only way,
as all my pages fade to grey,
and silence echoes all I say.

My introversion helped me to stand,
and I raised the sword in my hand,
’cause I have no magic wand.