After the Storm

Sitting on the verge of insanity, unable to show the tiniest bit of humanity. Having a breakdown in the middle of life, losing my every will to fight. With a noose hanging in the back of my brain, finding the strength to breathe difficult to maintain. Unable to talk to the ones I love the most, I am losing all my sense of hope. A worthless soul in a hollow shell, just waiting to walk that lonely staircase to hell. Forsaken by God and all the saints, a timely death surely awaits. Hopefully it's fast and not too slow, when the reaper comes knocking on my door. If I have to cease to exist, a hail of bullets is what I wish. To die like a gangster in his prime, my heart will stop on a dime. But when I am gone please don't mourn, only rejoice the peace after the storm.