May I Leave Now?

Sometimes, I just want to tell life to bugger off.
Simple as that. I want it to go away,
let me collect myself for a moment,
let me catch up. But no, I'm not allowed,
I have to match everyone else's pace,
never my own. I'm not permitted to set a course,
to find my own way, because, when I try,
life slaps me across the face, hard,
as if to remind me I am nothing,
as if the giant pit under my feet,
the stormcloud over my head couldn't say that enough,
as if the nagging little voices hadn't adequately driven that home,
as If I didn't believe it already.
Life just doesn't like me, I'll chalk it up to that's.
So sometimes, I walk up to it, calmly and coolly,
and ask it in my most polite tone,
"May I leave now? I think I'm done here."
It goes silent for a moment,
before suddenly she's standing there, crying her eyes out,
and it stuns me back into line with the rest of them,
terrified of hurting her anymore.
Life is blackmailing me to live.
It's not fair, is it?
She tell me to let her go,
but hypocritical her,
won't let me die...
Buzzard...