About The Mess

the deepest of despairs,

the shallowest of cares,

jumping on the bandwagon i realize there's no music,

even the imaginary friends left, of me they grew sick,

unable to love, i can only feel its evil twin,

even my build-a-bears no longer consider me kin,

more and more often i contemplate suicide,
like the will to keep living threw up and died,

i used to count the years, months and days,
now i watch the hours, minutes and seconds as each decays,

dead before i could die, dying to become dead,
i wish to fall asleep, the last thing i ever see: the ceiling above my bed...

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