As terrible as it sounds, I can’t imagine living a long life
I’m sick of it
My existence is a mere blip of what has been and what could be
I am a drop in the bucket
I wonder somedays if it’s worth getting up
Worth going to work
Worth any of it
I wonder if I cross the street a little too late
A little too slowly
If that transit bus will strike me just hard enough to end it
Because at least that way I’m not hurting my family and friends by killing myself
Not directly at least
I’m kind of tired of it
Life, that is
I mean, what’s the point?
My own mind and I can’t even be cordial
What a waste of space
If my sheer presence in the universe wasn’t such a monumental miracle, I’d give it up
Because sometimes
In these moments
I realize
Living is a fate worse than death