"For the final curtain" By Ben Goode 2019 (c)

(This is probably the darkest poem I have ever written. But don't worry it is just a poem.
Written from the darkest place. Gothic styled, but nothing more, but an expression.)

That essence of darkness has split. Like blood it runs unconstrained.
Free flowing. The unseen by others. I am losing control, of what was me.
Who am I, if I don't know myself?
What has me on this self destructive path?
Silenced, and blind. There is no guide.
And no one to lead me back.
Why am I here at all? Why should I stay? 
Where has my purpose gone? Why can't it end? 
My soul is in chains. Whose slave am I? 
Tortured. Alone. And nobody knows where I really am.
My body is like an abomination. Barely in the physical world.
And what makes it breath? My heart felt as if it stopped long ago.
The misery so deep, that tears have no meaning anymore.
And who can really see them?
If I hide them so well. 
Sleep is impossible. And fruitless without the dreams I once had.
Take me anyway. For I am not really alive. 
I can't break free. I can't break free. 
Take my feet to the edge, to that final step.
Those strings need to be cut. Just let it be.
This marionette has played it's final show.
The stage is clear, for the final curtain.