Dark Poetry

The End Would Be Ironic

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Standing on the edge of the cliff, they call out my name.
They seduce me to take the leap, to put an end to this pain.
The bleakness remains the same for nothing has changed –
so why not, why shouldn’t I end this game?

Failure before trying should probably keep me away,
yet nothing seem to succeed in making my mind sway.
It’s tiring at the moment, to reach another dead end –
this broken bloody mass of heart is getting difficult to mend.

Whisper those three words, send me off the edge,
unshackle me from this prison, release me from this cage.
But please don’t profess it if you never mean it,
why would you cause me more reasons to suffer and bleed?

Flightless birds should never dream of flying, of breaking free,
nothing awaits them besides a brutal bloody end.
The end would be ironic, that’s for sure,
who cares though – when I’ve managed to get this far.

Embracing the darkness, I take the plunge.
– God, nothing has ever felt so exhilarating before! –

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