Sick Of This

I’m getting sick of this

The mortal coil is loosing it’s grip

And I fall into nothing but my internal self-destructing abyss

I’m molded like putty, torn like paper mache

Abandoned I’m left here to stay

Happiness always seems to be so brief

Cold and scared I collapse into my own grief

So I continue to fall into a devastating coma

Free from pain I become numb

But it's only a temporary escape