Twisted.
Twisted inside
with livid things i hide
with insipid desires
and this tires my soul
and the only goal
I can achieve
with peace
is to die
why do i try
why continue this trial
why work on a renewal
of my spirit
when it is already gone
when i am done
what forgiveness is there
where can i turn now
i am dark and cold
and eaten with worms
and i must come to terms
with this
but there's this flicker
this little wicker
thought
in my head
that says no not yet am i dead
and this terrifies me
i dont' know if i am
here or there
gone or not
dead or alive
do i live, do i thrive
or do i just strive
for what is already unobtainable
to me
can you see?
I am twisted inside
like a tree in the moonlight
darkened umber against a vivid sky
longingly somber again and so i sigh
Just what am I?
~me.
Kahana _Oerristis Community Member 
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Community Member
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-Dylan Thomas