Antidote

Broken dreams fill my mind,

For I cannot escape persistent demons.

This constant sadness has me falling behind,

I have no escape--I am stuck.

I look to the future,

To escape this dreadful past--

But as my future becomes my past,

I find this hell is without escape.

As this sorrow drags on,

I come to realize one thing--

Death would be a relief,

In substitute for this reality.

They call it the gift of life,

Yet it seems the eternal punishment--

Yet sorrow holds no apologies to me,

Because it only fulfills its duty.

With this burden of sorrow I bare,

My back grows gradually weaker--

And while once I could bare all it could offer,

I no longer hold this strength.

My antidote for this sorrow does still exist,

But yet it has gained distance--

And now I become unsure,

Is my antidote worth pursuing?

For false antidotes have often come,

And promised a cure to this feeling--

But they only prove one thing--

This sickness could be eternal.

My biggest question arises--

Should I pursue this potential antidote?

While death is the sure cure,

Why risk the possible failure?

While optimism has held me together,

It is only an aspirin for this pain.

My tolerance for its relief grows stronger,

And with that--my end is near.

My antidote has escaped me,

I have only one to resort to--

And with this option, I know,

No relief shall be greater.

My burden is lifted;

Yet I am gone.