An English Writer's Mind

A question of concern                                                              Words that spew out from the masses From those that will yearn                                            Never once seeing the thoughts full of caskets Hoping one day that they'll never learn                                             Visions of pain, infliction, and acids Early sight bemoaned to a casket or urn                                Forevermore fearing being buried in ashes Those memories are dear, deserving of more                                           To sit and to fight day after day Not to be remembered as a life of before                                   Contender from birth, an eternal melee The smiles past given; selfless and pure                                The courage and strength allowing the stay Wisdom last spoken, a genuine mentor                             Quivers and shakes from too long in the fray Moments past s

Each new day brings a sun that's rising  My mind isn't compromising   It's comprising of thoughts not confiding in shots    Connecting no dots and idolizing dreadnoughts     Asking me always my thoughts on what a beautiful suicide means.       How do we act, how do we fall,       What's the best way to answer when Death gives us that call        I've seen how I die in most ways, not all         I thank my will my veins aren't drowning in ethanol         Though I can recall years against the wall          hitting a bottle of alcohol, like some repeat protocol           Just tryna end it all. That fate is one I must erase            Once and for all.            Why do I fight? I'm still asking to this day.              Maybe I'm not meant to go out this way.               I've been robbed of death or given a chance               To breathe a good breath before my last dance                 Residing in me I wish were the answers