Spasmodic Mind

Sometimes,
It hurts a bit.

More than a broken bone.

Sometimes,
I take the hit,

Only I do not hit home.

Sometimes,
I bleed to death,

With a passion clear and small.

Sometimes,
My undeniable love,

Cannot be seen at all.

Sometimes,
I feel good,

Standing grand like I should.

Sometimes,
I feel beaten,

Laying helplessly and eaten.

If there was a wish that I could make,
Without the blow of a candle or the sweetness of a cake,

I would wish to hang by the neck,
With a terrible smile,
And nothing but a speck.

"A speck of what?" asks a man.

"A speck of dust?" asks a boy.

"A speck of mourn" I say with an awful grin,

"For I wish to have never been born."

Author's Note

Note: I am not suicidal, I just thought I would write this. I hope it's not too bad since poetry isn't really my strength but you know, beggars can't be choosers (: