If only it will all end

It's coming back again and again.
And everytime it does.
My desire to end it all heightens.

It feels like I'm being ripped apart.
Inch by inch.
Day by day.
Fiber by fiber.

The coldness is becoming more extreme.
The hollowness is becoming larger.
The gap inside is filled with wider unfilled spaces.

It felt like something inside is struggling.
Gasping. Bent in the most crooked angles.
Breaking in pieces that can never be puzzled up again.

Everything dies, or so it felt like.
Even the flame of hope flickers,
Trying to warn whoever sees it
From the outside,
That it might be put off anytime.

But no one cares.
No one dares to have it covered.
To have it sheltered.
No one tries.
Even I.

Everyone gets tired.
Everyone gives up.
And I'm coming to that point as well.
I'm nearly there.

And the tick tock of my existence,
Agonizingly, slowly turns per second.
Waiting for the time that it finally rests.
When the clock fails to turn its hands.
That moment when everything stops.

They want it all to stop.
The drama. The cycle. The pain of understanding the incomprehensible.

They never knew I want it all too.
They never thought I badly craved for it.
They never saw how much I hoped for it.

And maybe this is the saddest,
To feel this not just once in a lifetime,
But in almost every single day.
To wish I'd breathe my last.
Just to stop the pain of misery.