Path Of Self Destruction

This is the poem that does not always rhyme,
Why may you ask? Is it so sublime?

I trundle around in this world ours.
Often burning oil into the midnight of hours.

Looking and trawling for that moment to claim,
when like minds meet on that perfect plane.

I am not brutal where men apply such lust.
I am not deceitful like those you so trust.

What can I say that will envision you mind?
What can I do that will make this sound true?

Who knows? Who cares, such mystical lies.
Lost in this world with so much to despise.
 
Isolated and crippled by Society`s need.
No one can see me as I slowly bleed.
 
Often I am broken to that point of despair,
with no one for comfort or freshness of air.
 
My day of defeat will surely come,
the day when this world ends on sound of a gun.
 
EnternalSoul
{Tripping in the Dark Fantastic}