There's no way out for me.
I wish to leave this place.
My mind is erasing—
melting,
dripping down from my eyes,
then even my mouth.
I'm on a search for it,
and my inadequacy blinds me to it.
I want it so much.
I clench my chest;
my heart hurts to not have it.
I pound my head.
"Why can't I grasp it?"
Why can't I make an original thought?
All I have thought has been—
all I wish to think resembles.
My mind races,
my heart declines,
for I know this will be an endless pursuit.
I can't scream out,
shout, or cry—
for that would be too predictable.
I can't be happy and live through it—
too predictable.
Can't die—
everyone expects that.
I stand on an island with nowhere to go,
watching the ocean and seeing it for what it is:
the oblivion,
yet not knowing why or how to understand it.
I won't yell for help—
I won't try to survive in this harsh world.
Desperate things such as these
are too predictable for a man
that's sort of like me.
I am not a smart man.
This is why it pains me.
For a smart man would give up,
leave it alone,
move away and move on.
But I am not a smart man.
I will keep hitting my head on a rock,
till eventually I break my head,
as ooze from my mind flows out.