I may be suicidal
I’m not scared of dying
Because instead I’m scared of life
Every day I remain idle
Never truly flying
Living life in strife
Stuck in my lonely abode
Every night I’m crying
Crying myself into slumber
A pillow dowsed in tears
Every day I’m feeling humbler

Rip a strip of wet pillow
Stick it in an empty beer bottle
Light the end on fire
But nothing seems to happen
An allegory of my life
They call me the molotov floptail
As my flame it will not light
Inspiration feeling frail
My canvas remains blanc; white
A blend of nought and pale

I don’t wish for death
Death wishes for me
I don’t wish for death
Only to be free
Free from existence
With it’s burdening chains of torment
I don’t wish for death
I wish for the absence of life

Fueled in fire
Drowned in flames
Fastened into the devils reins
Led down to the realm
In which the devil reigns
Where there’s lakes of lava
And pillars of magma
Trees of carbon
And skies of crimson
I’m taken to an obsidian castle
Locked within it’s dungeon
Then left to rot

Perhaps this is
The inspiration I need
I release myself
Come back to life
No longer living
My life in strife
No longer blind
I now see in colour
I extract the colour
Out through my eyes
Blast the canvas
Now it’s the canvas that cries
My colourful tears
Fill it whole
Everything blends
And it mixes into black
The colour of death
On the canvas
It is now trapped