Another Suffering Poet

When I feel bitter discontentment I take out my poision pen to immortalize The ones who have crushed Me with their Gigantic, concrete boulders Like many before me Who cried tears Of overwhelming sadness Lingering depression And infinite lonliness I have become one with them For we all possess The same quality The need to be set free Through the expression of The thoughts that haunt our minds We release our agony through our poetic prose Our words are few But, they speak volumes About what lies inside us For my creativity Stems from the intensity That roams within me My open wounds Exposed for all to view When I compose A melodic rhyme It speaks of my angst Through mystery Making my reader Look beyond the face value Of my syntax And search for the true meaning Of which I was attempting to convey My poetic talents Can only bring miniscule relief From what has been Creeping up on me Following me My entire life I hear the clock ticking The hand is about to strike midnight The fairytale is over Time is running out Like sand passing through the hourglass I wait for the day I muster up the courage To turn on the gas stove Sticking my head in Sylvia Plath style So I can take my last breath Ending my melancholic existence forever For I couldn't escape the curse Of my literary collegues That preceded me Whose lives were filled With despair and doom Who spent their life tormented By the demons inside their soul Because I, like them Couldn't stop feeling the torture Of my past When I laid down my pen And closed my eyes For I am just another suffering poet In my grave Decaying away After a life wasted