Not I.

I see no reason to wish this thought,
pitiful illusions of death I sought.
Upon myself I see this lie.
The dead toy will cease to be,
as I approach the confounds of reality,

but I sigh.

Alas I see this pitiful door,
and upon my feet the padded floor.
I sink to the corner and come to think,
leading my mind to the very brink!
My thoughts seemly turn to pale
my life has become grossly stale.

******

I look through the opening upon the door
to see a friend of long before.
One who turns to see me back,
and sees my mind as a bitter core,
one of death, one of black!

No more.

I turn and hide my eyes of shame,
to stop this feeling of bitter pain.
Let him live the life he sought,
let him live this life of rot.

I cannot!

I must release my mind from the insane,
and give the knife which travels the vein.

*******