The Countdown

Counting the days off to the end,
Wonder what stopped me from my own end.
Slitting veins and seeing the blood pour?
Surely not cowardice-
Maybe a certain text message from the soul sister,
Jarring me back to reality.
Or maybe the thought of my parents-
Without me,
There'll be nothing for them to live for.
But, if I am the only one-
Then most certainly,
That's their doing.
Not mine-
Not a mistake, I shall bear.
At my darkest pit,
I find peace,
A requiem for solace-
Maybe, I may too savor a piece of me.
I think of the bitch face,
I troll at-
The she-male might be reading  this now-
Ah, not my doing.
How I wish to dig the knife's edge through
Cracks of the crack that shapes part of my world now.
Walrussy the looks,
The fangs almost grimace into a menacing smile!
Pity floods over me-
At the sordid existence of such a waste.
I even laugh,
At the cause of it all-
Quite a comic sense of relief,
That thought alone.
Of laugh and love-
Or laugh in love-
Or laughing love!
Nah ! I shan't-
I respect thy shadow.
So, taking my mind off to a merrier territory-
I see that
Bitch face too smiles,
I think-
Sadistic the soul,
The sagging body derives joy,
Quite Scrooge-like.
Well, that set of people,
Have their own ends to meet.
Last laugh, they cannot have.
Darkness invades their pores.
It's the final countdown,
In my mind-
As I berate the heart too to
Reign in tantrums.
The soles of my feet,
Itch, as they inch towards,
A certain sense of salvation.
Maybe self-love,
Ought to win.
Let the wonder prevail-
Beseech as I forsake.
Maybe smoke up and stay up
Through the night-
With the wild and the random-
Living the 'Hollywood' life-
Would you care?
I think not.
For bitch face barks as it harks out-
Expletives in it's broken chord-
At the sexy back turned on me.