I sit and feel sorry for myself. I don’t know exactly how much time is left.
   Do I pull this trigger and flush this existence down the drain? Or do I sit my sorry self outside in the pouring rain?
   How much time do I have here? Is this lifestyle called life supposed to be this weird?
   How can I express this feeling this is deep inside? Do I try and help it out? Or try to help it hide?
   Am I just a sorry excuse of what I used to be? Or am I something else; of what he expects from me?
   Can you not hear my pleads for you? I need you near me and no one else will do.
   I can feel the walls closing in on me. Is this a dream or part of a bad memory?
   Can you not see the tears pouring down my face? Do you not understand? This is a life or death race.
   You think this is a joke, but you can wait and see. When you walk down the sidewalk and find little parts of me.
   Who has the last laugh? You? Me? Guess only time will tell, you will have to wait and see.