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Sitting on a chair,
Stuck in the weeds of life,
My reflection looking back at me,
Through the blood on the knife.

People speaking such kind words,
Making things look good at last,
But acting is what they do best,
And happiness leaves so fast.

Wanting more then others,
Getting so much less,
Wanting my life to be clean,
But its an obvious mess.

Nothing left to savour,
No moments left to hold,
No more times to keep me warm,
Just times to keep me cold.

Hiding in the dark,
As I run away,
All I want is light again,
Whether in the night or day.

I have questions left to ask,
So many words to speak,
But no ones here to listen,
To help me reach the peak.

I want someone to tell me,
There is help on my side,
I have not a reason,
To run away and hide.

Stuck in traffic,
Not moving to another place,
My life is empty as is my death,
Which is staring me in the face.