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The beast years for my life.
Lost to a storm of depression.
Lost to a father no longer there.
Lost what to live for.

The best years of my life.
Spent hiding the pent up depression.
So efficient,
Hid it from myself.
Till he left,
It all came out.

Lost once more,
Swirling through the sea of thoughts,
No map or compass to guide,
No stars or sun to see.

Alone in the cramped room.
The bars close in.
The punch across my cheek.
The cold of the stone,
The blood dripping from the knife.

The pool of red grows,
As I pull the knife from my wrist.
Stagger back as the strength runs from my legs.
Till I fall into the darkness I’ve lived in.
Clod as the stone ground.
To die lost,
The worst way to go.