In the End, She Dies.

I am tired.

Of everything.

A glass of vodka can't solve this; a night of passion has no appeal.

I just want out, is that really so bad?

Is it wrong to admit that you are wrong and that all your dreams were exactly that, dreams?

Is it wrong to enter quit on that controller?

Is it wrong to admit your mistakes and just watch them laugh?

Is it wrong to accept defeat, to crash and burn?

Come take me, Minneapolis.

I have played their games and have lost.

Show me diversity and promiscuity and all I have run from.

Come offer me a way out, far far away.

Bright lights, new faces, challenges.

Make my heart skip and my voice catch, my knees weak.

And when I scream professions of my love, echo it back to me.

That is more than I am used to.

Turn my heart to ice, my voice to butter and curves sultry.

Make me the surprise you are.

Make me sophisticated but haunted.

May I taunt the world as she did; seduce her, steal her innocence and then laugh.

Let her tears pour like rain on the unsuspecting as they are just as guilty.

Make her as bitter as I am, why should she be happy?

Neither should they escape nor exempt.

Sodom and Gomorrah was shown mercy.

Give them as they deserve, nothing more nor less.

Give me peace.