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I’m thinking of ending things.

Studied all night’s lore

I don’t feel I can take much more

of this world’s galore.

For countless nights I’ve sloshed the urban slime

and while wiping off my boots its grime

I’m finding myself in a desperate lack of time.

You only live once they say,

I find that once is enough

for spending the period

trying to break the inherently given cuffs.

Still should you want to take the most,

you would need to acquire what you’ve lost.

Not on the rails,

but in what another night shall bring,

in the epiphany, that

I’m thinking of ending things.

I’m thinking of ending things

with ticking of an alarm clock,

counting down your span

tick-tick-tick-tock.

In another night’s wake

it’s your own choosing what to take.

To endlessly wander your lonely street

or cut the cycle and let it bleed.

I’ve walked it for so long,

why I never thought it wrong?

Why I always walk strongly determined,

but short of strong?

Why all the voices telling path that’s right

get lost in the voice of mine?

Why do I even try, when I drown the sounds

in the resonance of my goodbye?

I let all these questions sink,

when I’m thinking of ending things.