The Gift

It drowns me,
In a soft embrace,
Killing me slowly but sure.
Erasing the path
My tears would trace;
It is the pain I must endure.

It breaks me,
In body and in mind
As I forsake what I fear.
Mortally bound,
No respite I find
From the pain, I once did endear.

It mocks me,
And my barren soul;
My own life to despise.
My image torn
From what was whole,
To a tapestry of mere lies.

It bleeds me,
To choices that i make;
My only task is to wait and die.
This broken life,
I choose to forsake,
For its gift is but a lie.

By,
Nikhil Menon