A Little Disorganized

I stand at the edge of reality
On a flat world offering nothing -
A song that should have been popular
And nightmares nothing short of haunting.

"Gravedigger, when you dig my grave,
Could you make it shallow so that
I can feel the rain?" go the lyrics
To that song* - I'm up to bat...

"You promise, somethin' real bad happens,
That you won't let me suffer, and you'll help me die,"
Were the terms of the pact made in combat.
His voice in my head reminds me still - a dead guy.

The voices, in my head, the whispers talking,
Tell me I'd better just shoot myself
Before the disorganization gets so bad
That all I see, hear, and know are glowing elves.

I had so much potential, I truly did,
To be a doctor, a musician, an artist, the best,
But mental illness has taken me to the depths
Of despair, that mesh bulletproof vest...



* "Gravedigger" by David J. Matthews

© Copyright 2012 Doctored Climber (jonesc at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.

Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.