Terminal regression

In rest I confess my deepest regression.
I really have attempted to avoid my own oppression,
but it is useless and there is nothing to question.

I am a spider with torn limbs, 
and so my reality is veridical and grim.
I have painted everything grey,
now I have no choice but to pay.

Every time I have a glimpse of hope,
it is dashed so I just cannot cope.
To comfort myself I thought I could write,
but all it does is worsen my blood stained plight.

I no longer have the desire to fight, 
for I just want to say my final goodnight.
I'm foolish and I always will be,
just remember to wait for me by the sea.