Dear Esther,

I'm sick of fighting.
I'm sick of everything.

Revolutions of triumph and loss,
Take place inside my clanging head,
Teeming with utter darkness and shade

Tears have shed,
Blood has spilled,
As demons take over me,
Against my will

Endeavouring is useless,
Just like myself

My life absolutely holds no importance.
I'd be elated, if I lose it --
I'd finally be free.

Quinn