SYRE

"Syre, a beautiful confusion… The story of a boy who chased the sunset until it chased him…"

I wrote my own name in the death note but it didn't count like Trump checking votes.

People telling me to get through the waves of pain on a boat, but all I want to do is slit my own throat.

My heart hurts at the thought of people possibly missing me because my heart is used to being used thoroughly and no one caring minutely.

For someone like myself who thrives on his shitty mental health all I deserve is to be a name forgotten in a dusty book on a rickety bookshelf.

I stare outside at the night sky dreaming of the day I fly away but the pain of my physical body is what makes me stay. The limits of my flesh and blood are by what my soul is tugged.

Chained to this earthly plane cursed to live with this self-disdain. I dream of a day where I could see the brightness of the sun and not the darkness of the rain but they're really nightmares the sunshine bringing my eyes nothing but pain.

I move amongst my daily life thinking if I pretend everything is alright one day it'll bring an end to my plight, but it's never that simple escaping my sort of plight. I'm enslaved by the thoughts of my mind.

But as you know slaves of my kind only get freed by the dying light. Killing my captors is only possible through the usage of drugs and pills but then would I even be myself?

Would I even be real? Aggression and depression maxing out. Suicidal Tendencies rising with my doubt. As the snow falls it drowns shout.

Cries of pain looking for a release only to be trapped back inside and seeped out through gritted teeth. The memories fly by me as time is always fleeting, but the pain and scars seem fresh as if I had just gotten a beating. Looking at myself I wonder where I lost my passion. Looking at myself I wonder what it is I'm trying to ration. No longer do the words sing to me as they one did. I wish I could rediscover that spark I had as a kid.