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All through life, things began to suck.

She got quieter, life got darker,

The blade got sharper and the long nights darker.

Sleeves were not enough,

Every little thing had gotten so rough.

The days lost a bright smile,

Sparkly nights had definitely gone out of style.

To have a life of my own,

I had been forced to go the extra mile.

Please, help the poor me,

Take me away from such captivity.

I desire to be freed from such wrath,

I only have an electric oven, can't hence be another sorry poet Plath.

It's surely not worth the indignation and pain,

There have been more losses than better or apparent gains.

I do not now want to put my head through the uncanny series of circumstances,

I surely do not want life to prey on me given such odd and difficult nuances.