My Assassins..

Their dissonance in my head resounds,
And as I take my final breath, I hit the ground,

They are my coffin nails, meant only to rust,
A buoyant sabotage of my sickening trust,
A tune of dejection, a hew of dust,

They’re my cynics, jealous of what I’ve come to be,
And with a pompous distaste, they loom over me,

Their razorblade eyes, slice through my soul,
Their irksome presence, consumes me whole,

The sense of self in me, tries to swim against the powerful current, and is defeated within,
All the desolation remains carved onto my skin,

The tombstone of plastic they gifted me, still stands,
And it remains as a chronicle, while I’m scattered in the sands,

They, who are my self-proclaimed liberators, are the ones,
Who wound me with words through their synthetic guns,
All the way through the shadows, that they have created,
Their own hobbyhorse, that they fated,

I look in contempt, when I finally realize,
That sooner or later each and every one dies,
And they too shall collapse on the very sand, where my body lies,
Tolerance and loath runs out, but outcome never dies,

And then we all revisit, the same quiescent place,
Like broken sanguinity, we fall from grace,
We lose the battle, unmask our face,
And vanish like devils, without a trace,
From dust, to dust, I rest my case!