when darkness dies

who knows what comes next
when the knife is still vibrating
in the back of darkness
is there an end to this mess

if there is an end to pain
an end to this incessant hunger
if there is an answer to this anger
please shove a spike in my brain

I've tried to rip out poems
from pages of newspapers
but it's only death and misery
wrapped in morbid sensations

the sickness, does it have an end?
will I ever smile or just pretend?
will I ever see the sky again?
in the desert of my head, will it ever rain?

no flowers grow here, sir
it's only arid land as far as the eye can see
and beyond the dunes, there is ice
brutal and no even twice as nice

--
It looks disjointed. It looks like blocks of text. But it makes sense if you read it without prejudice.