it must be nice to live without a switch in your head

the one that decides how you will react to things for the day

or without the thoughts that keep planning the death of you

to live, to live, to live

on some nights i kneel and beg the devil in me to let me live

because some days are nice, and some nights are worthwhile

and through some desperate and costly bargains, i get to live another day and make mistake for another time

but there are days when my mind and the devil have a cup of tea, together, laughing like old friends, plotting something

and i’m not invited but they make sure i sign the death bill

what is this slight conscience of mine that still clings to a thin thread of “what if”

it only drains me

but i take pride in my scars

they remind me about the conversations i had with myself and the devil

the three of us often couldn’t reach to a conclusion

so instead of death, we settled with scars and silent cries

instead of fading, i’m more awake than ever

to die, to disappear, to be gone

sometimes i wonder what if (there i said it again) i ask the devil to finally take me and ask it to engulf me whole

then this tug of war between what’s right and what’s wrong will end and i will finally be gone