My end.

My end justifies my means,
All I ever did was believe,
That the noose at the end of the rope,
And I,
Would never meet.
Tonight I'll set my mast,
And shake my own hand,
On a beach of white sand,
With a white-knuckled grip,
Where time and life part,
In one forceful rip.

God knows that I can't even rhyme,
I haven't got the time,
I was born in August,
The years rolled around like a sudden hello,
But September burns out slow,
Burns like a cigarette,
That I'll never smoke.

I'm just so empty,
Nothing within,
Just a lack of passion,
Engulfed by sin.
I hope I die,
I hate myself,
And I hate my life.
I can try to blame the times,
I can try to deny your cries,
But I'm cold inside,
And I want to die.

I don't wish well on others,
But I once had a kind heart.
I was tied up by my limbs,
Quartered and hauled apart,
Off to the places you won't dream about,
Without waking up in tears,
Clutching your heart.

I just want to sleep.
I'm so fucking tired.
Are you blistered by my honesty?
I don't give a damn.
I hope no one ever reads what I write,
It'd be better to pop your eyes out,
You poets are so devout,
And that's why I love you,
But I hate myself.

"Pray for my death!
Pray to your gods!
I am Syssyphus,
And I do not rot."
I am the bastardization of man.
I am the yelp of a tortured animal.
I am that once beautiful child.
I am the sunset on the greatest day of your life.
I am a cloud without direction.
I am just like you,
And I'm hoping to die.
I am the noose at the end of the rope,
"Another panicked poem.",
The poet wrote.
I speak so callous,
Because, what's the difference?
Am I still trying to rhyme?
I don't know.
I hope so.
Am I going to cry?
I'm not sure.
I think so.
Its such a shame for me to go,
I could have given so much.
I won't be coming back,
And if there's an all-loving God,
I won't even get to rest in peace;
"The absence of torment."
Is perhaps too kind of a gift for Him to bestow upon me.
PS: Goodbye.