I'm such a coward I don't have the courage to kill myself,
But now would be the appropriate time to exonerate oneself,
Of all the sins one has committed against all that is right and true,
Not being honest, sincere, having integrity and a genuine clue.
Why is life so hard in circles, periodically, without fail?
I had made myself happy with myself, no company, no male.
I thought joblessness was freedom, the will to work- sacred,
Little did I know that the world and even my family judged me by balance sheet's red.
I can't seem to do anything right, everything is judged,
Over 3 decades on this planet, and my actions are still misread.
Death doesn't come so swiftly to the likes of me, wishing it were here,
No, I gotta learn lessons, nothing that is easy, all that is severe.
I'm really tired, my hair's turning white, not gray,
Everything is hurt- my vanity, pride and feelings astray.
Is this depression, or cowardice on an individual level?
I dunno if I should apologise, express anger or grovel.
I've not accomplished anything at all, professionally or personally,
My parents still spend sleepless night worrying over me dismally.
A handful of people shall make it for my eventual funeral,
I haven't touched more lives, nor made a difference, that's real.
Just a speck of the universe, as immaterial as when I was born,
Life hasn't made any difference, the kernel still stuck to the corn.
My parents told me different, I was meant to be special,
Do big things, touch lives, influence people and die admirable.
I don't have proud parents, a fulfilling job, or a man that wishes to marry me,
Oh, isn't this the bottom of the pit, time to put an end to misery?
But I don't have the strength, the courage to make it happen,
My wits, my sensors, my wants, I guess, just didn't manage to sharpen.
I neither know how to end this existence, nor this piece of poem,
Go out with a bang, not a fizzled fuze, just show 'em.
Of all my written words, alas this is one doused in tears,
Heartache, depression n bleakness- that's the wisdom of my years.