Poetry poem poetry - what do you think it's not meant to be too serious.?

Sitting, hoping, waiting, I'm dying slowly... deteriorating. Wanting to be shown the way bleeding more but still I pray I carry on at least today until the day I fade away this stupid fcking game I'll play, pointlessly or so they say. I want to be numb like a block of ice rather then stabbed like a murderer's wife, poison on the eyes, black haunting skies that crave only to terrorize our paradise that's heart still beats inside our broken minds and even in our empty lives it leaves a scar like a blade on thys until we finally realise that throughout all our endless tries we'll never get to materialise the pack of lies of which we'd often theorize and then we choked on home made pies and sure as love we died inside.