Dark but devine

Like a  noose around my neck, it constricts every breath.
And I hang like a wreck in the black eyes of death.
I must have dropped my purpose, maybe it lingers where I fell.
Or is it just below the surface in my version of hell?
I'm frightened for the ending, so I would never close the book.
So till then I'm pending, as I sway from this hook.
I hate the truth in this ink, for it holds depth beyond belief.
And at times I even think it's my only real relief.
Why can't I be conent? Make the broken pieces fit?
There's nothing more that I resent, as I remember to forget.
Should I hang here in suspense, what's a pulse without a brain?
I lack self defense, and it drives me insane.
I envy your peace, for I'm depleted of my own.
As if pain has signed a lease, this intruder calls me 'home'.
You can't destroy what's not created, so I guess that I'll be fine.
In fact I should have waited, for something more devine.