There comes a time when you can't speak,
And when your bones feel so weak.
Your tongue tries to shriek,
But your vocal cords break.
Your body becomes a vessel,
Just like an empty label.
Your brain becomes unstable.
Your emotions are untouchable.
Your words void of any syllable.
You twist and turn around yourself.
The moments of joy seem to be very brief.
The sorrow feels like a relief,
Called out by your constant past-grief.
At a certain point, you become deaf.
Voices can’t reach your ear.
Your inner screams can’t intrigue a tear.
Horror movies are no longer a fear.
Life's running out of blues and greens.
Even whites and grays are no longer clear.
Darkness is such a dear,
Swallowing you into its deepest pits.
It’s filled with shiny ornaments:
Bullets!
Their metallic glitter's shining through your eyes,
Offering you an eternal solace,
Promising to end the cold loneliness:
“They pierced through my skin with such fierceness,
But they felt so warm, filling the huge emptiness”
It felt so good to be finally full,
Even if the bullets were lethal.
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