Sick of It All
Another spontaneous poem...
Sick of the lying
Sick of the games
Sick of just sitting here
Screaming your name.
Tired of being here
Just taking up space
I only want to die
And think of your face.
But no one will grant it
My one biggest wish
So I have to do it myself
Cause life is a bitch.
Should I use a razor? Some poison?
I can’t make up my mind!
All well, as long as it kills me
Then hell a knife would be fine.
Speaking of hell, here I come
Satan better have a place for me.
Heaven doesn’t want me, I know
Guess no one else does, far as I can see.
Sick of the games
Sick of just sitting here
Screaming your name.
Tired of being here
Just taking up space
I only want to die
And think of your face.
But no one will grant it
My one biggest wish
So I have to do it myself
Cause life is a bitch.
Should I use a razor? Some poison?
I can’t make up my mind!
All well, as long as it kills me
Then hell a knife would be fine.
Speaking of hell, here I come
Satan better have a place for me.
Heaven doesn’t want me, I know
Guess no one else does, far as I can see.
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