Portrait to the Flame

In a hurry,
I violently scratched my name of the punishing list called life
Using my cold lifeless fingers and a dried out pen
much like the pen,
time is running out for me
There's not much left in me
and I know nothing lasts forever

I held my vacant portrait to the scorching flame
as I watched it disintegrate
each burning piece
one by one
it almost felt like time was still
and I could feel the blood rushing through my veins
At the time it felt warm
but now that I think about it
it may have been just as cold as my mood

I've given up this time
Maybe, and hopefully for good
my environment is darker than my thoughts
this Earth is not a place I want to be any longer,
nor has it ever been

I am exhausted from trying to purge myself clean from my sins
and dark thoughts in order to fit into this puzzle we call life
my removal time has come to enhance this beautiful picture
that shines much brighter without my presence

As I awake in the adolescent sun,
unaware as to what will come my way next
it almost feels as if I am searching
for a deserted peak of a mountain
where anything could happen

I am not as strong as i used to be
but sitting here writing this,
I wonder if I was ever even strong at all