The Choice

One thing leads to a next
The good melts into a drastic mess,
I sit in my chair, pressed upon my desk
Scribbling down the pros and cons of life or death.
Slitting my wrist or regaining hope
I don't know which is easier,
Or if my body could cope.
Allowing the darkness to fill me with comforting lies
I need to finally rest and close my eyes.
I've grown tired and weary
For the fire inside me is soon to be gone
By the rain pouring over me.
Just before the storm ends
I got answers from my questions of why and when?
In the mere distance I see color,
My life's winter is springing into summer.
I've held on for long enough,
The path infront me is smoothening out; no longer rough.