Rotten
I’m slowly rotting.
My body is decaying.
I’m supposed to be. . .
I want to be.
Dead
I can't take the pain anymore.
I hear subtle voices
They talk to me
I find some kind of comfort in them?
People call me
crazy
Broken
Wrong
Pathetic
And the worst one
Monster. . .
Every time I hear it
The voices get louder
I black out
When I wake up
there's blood on my hands.
Again. . .
I stare at the blood.
Then the gun
Back to the blood.
Back to the gun.
Blood.
Gun.
I grab the gun
I hold it under my chin
My hand tremble
Tears fall
The voices yell
“Bang”
Everything is gone
The voices go quit
The pain is gone
My body is now is finally
“Decomposing”
Or as the people will whisper
“The monster is now rotting away”
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