Analysis of Wobbled Scribbles

I have words but
I cannot speak.
I have rhymes but
I cannot write.

Words, they don't make sense
Rhymes, they don't really rhyme.
They're just scribbles, actually,
Neither they have any insight
Nor they shine.

Words, they don't shine.

They're dark as hell.
Well, if I'm being honest,
They out-dark the hell.
This is a total nonsense
What the hell !

I'll tell you the truth.

Sometimes I wish,
This darkness inside would engulf me
And destroy the root
Of my puny little life,
My lifeless little life.

You know, I'm tired
But I do have a goal.
A ray of hope,
If I may.
Hence,
I'm still running.

Yeah I'm still running.

Somehow holding together the
Nearly beheaded head and body,
I'm still running.
Somehow.

Bleeded out all the blood
The heart, it has begun to rust.
Organs failing,
Life draining,
And I'm still running.
Somehow.

By now you must have known
With inconsistency that's been shown
That it's not some poem
But whining of my own.
You must have known.

So, this is it !!

I'll take away my whiny ass
And collect the shit
In the same dark empty room
Where heaven only takes piss.
Right there,
In that dark empty room,
I'll put my shit together.