Rather than suffering,
dying every moment to succumb,
waiting for natural death to take and come;
I defeat death by ending my life,
and when it comes for me,
I will make it look dumb.

Life I lead like pus,
they say is good for me;
but no-one sees the pain I go through,
my polluted blood suffocates myself,
from head to knee;
so is the stagnated garden of my toxic life,
where every flower is poison ivy.

The puff of life I dragged through,
was centred around me and I,
now I think of others when I am gone forever;
will they ever remember me?
Will they ever cry?
Will I be there in their stories?
Will I leave an irreplaceable vacuum?
That is why I want to end,
‘cos even in my benevolent thought for others,
I end up thinking for myself.

Friends have speculated their feelings in me,
my family has invested their care;
before I could reap dividends,
I got lost,
I don’t know where.

Ached myself beyond I deserve,
I can’t take it more,
let me die… please;
than to live in pieces,
it is better to rest in peace.

To win over pain,
should my chariot be,
pill, dagger or a trigger;
it won’t be much difference to me,
and for you I’ll be just another statistical figure.

Somehow now I feel,
anything I wish I can get,
anything I want I can achieve;
but somehow I don’t have anything,
nothing to ask,
nothing to believe;
somehow from the shackles of desire,
from the prison of wants,
from the handcuffs of dreams,
I just got relieve.

Ironical it may be,
‘cos of my action,
my reasons to die,
somehow all of them,
are no more than hiccups;
but now I am enjoying my float,
which will sink me,
forever… forever… and forever.