Pain in my head, exploding by brains,
Thoughts push at my cranium, making me insane.
Those that tense up out, tear at my mind.
Trying to welcome reasoning for the s murder that had hit the fan.
Claws of kind rake my head pinning my neck to a wall.
Blur of vision, weight of heart is nauseating me.
Light I feel, while the stain rushes forth from under me.
Kiss the dirt, drool a lot, then I realize of the pass fall.
Pain strikes a bolt at me drill at my bones.
Want to sleep till death raped me in his folds.
But tarry a lot he if it matters the most
Moved I be to be cared for the hurt.
What do they know that there is no cure.
Past rubbed in; close the skin till scares leaves no note.
Surgery binds me back to be whole.
But the shit is there still on the fan, nailed to my life.
So suicide illustrious does not find me acceptable at all.
Should I bet, to find another way to waste me life for good.
Or should I shoulder the pain and go forth.
I like the poem a lot. It shows a lot of frustration and emotion. The title seems a bit cliche, unfortunately.
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