One Last Time.

I don't want to breathe any more.
I don't even want to choke.
The only thing I'm wishing for,
is blood pouring from my throat.

I'm tired of living and tired of feeling;
I just want to give up on my existence.
When will I ever, if ever, start healing?
Oh, please remove me of my conscience.

I sleep to dream to wake to another day,
one that I wish would never come,
but in the end, things never go my way,
and I rise to feel the heat of the sun.

Like a taunt, you stand in front of me,
with a smile blaring across your face,
rubbing in the fact that I will never be
anything but a disruption taking space.

So I breathe,
and I choke,
and I wish,
for one last time,
that this is my last time.
My last breath;
my last choke;
my last death wish.

I will never be what I truly want to be;
I will never say what should be said,
and I will never be what I truly want to be,
and what I truly want to be, is dead.

Sarah Gammon ©
28/02/07

Thanks for reading -xxx-.