Blotted Paper

Ok.
Let's spell this out.
Let's make it real clear.
This life reached it's end.
It's over, you hear?
I can't tiptoe back,
or make it ideal.
I can't start again.
I can't undo feel.
The paper's been blotted,
white lines disappeared.
The mess is mind-razing,
yet I can't clean all here.
The little mistakes,
like pebbles and straw
piled up into heavy
ridiculous bawl.
I'm trapped in a cage
with no signals around-
no breaks in the walls,
no fucking way out!
Submerged in the depths,
and fall far below.
This slipping slope's story
is mine now as owned.
Not a single reflection
or deed done now right
will set things askew
so they balance, not blight.
This soul found its end.
The body awaits.
A meeting is needed
G-d damn it! Don't wait!