Twelve Thirty

Only once the drinks are done…
I feel like dying
I feel like dying

I’m starting to think I was a failure from the start. The doctor should never have helped me from the start. Should of left me in my mother, abort me. Nip it in the bud save me the trouble of killing myself. I don’t feel sorry for myself I’m starting to hate myself. I’m mad at myself for the failure I have become. I sit here half sober, half intoxicated. Only so I can’t think straight. Only so I can’t plan the death straight. I drink to save myself from myself and this failure I have become.

“Cant you even die right?”
Nope, not with all this liquor in me.
But I can still write. I don’t want to kill myself because I can’t do it over. Skipping from life to life only to find that the one you had left was better than expected. In retrospect Treating life like a lover, leaving her for another, greener grass on the other side just to see it was all a lie. To wake up from death whishing you hadn’t. Wishing you could have back what you wanted so badly to take away. No, No...no not that. I’ll work this till its done, they’ll take this life only from my cold dead hands.

And so brings depression.
Monday brings hope
Tuesday brings happiness
Wednesday brings reality
Thursday brings me to the edge
Friday and Saturday I try and forget
Sunday I feel like dying.