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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I'm writing this, because I feel like I should quit. I feel like I should just lay down and never get up. I feel that bliss is overrated, and joy will never find me. When I look up at the ceiling, all it does is wind me—Up, up, and away I go (at least when up is down). Appreciation is depreciation, as the atmosphere grows thicker. I writhe around, but make no sound. I have fallen down. Help me, but I won't get up. Leave me be and then you'll see; I'm a king without a crown. You can find me in my mind, fighting with my thoughts. Even contradiction seems to contradict. I'm salt, without a lick. A grain of truth will make me sick, but sorrow is the bile. I thought I had my life on file, but confusion is its new name. What happens if I do die? Who will be left to blame? Appreciation is depreciation, as the atmosphere grows thicker. I writhe around, but make no sound. I have fallen down once again. In the end, I have no beginning. Grab my hand and you'll understand; I'm just a king without a crown. Years change and come and go, only this year got lost in translation. Now even translation is lost, now there's no linguistics. Without language, how can I speak? How can I hear everyone else's sound, let alone my own? The world is now mute. There's been a failure to communicate. Depreciation is normalcy, and the atmosphere is gone. Now I cannot breathe and soon I'll be a corpse. By now you know, of course, that I have fallen down and won't get up. You tried to help me; I didn't listen. So then you left me be. You have always failed to see, I was sitting on my crown. It wasn't lost, but by my side. It's much too late. I truly can't get up. While you were busy reading this, I kicked my crown and died.
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