want to trade a full wallet for temporary pleasures,
for agony is eternal and it can wait.
This hypertension in my head builds up,
and I lower my self-control all the way down.
My cries for help were mere shaky whispers that hung on the moon.
These vocal chords had long ago been beaten to submissive repose.
The glass looked good half full for a while,
but much better empty for it brought upon a plastered smile.
My birth was only an overture to my eternal torture.
No amount of wishing could ever materialize my heart’s desire
to put an end to this never-ending self-loathing.
There was no plan, no next step for this life to truly begin.
I would be gone, and the Earth would continue to spin.
Everyone had failed, including I.
The Jenga tower took years to build
and only mere seconds to tear down.