Anxiety and
depression,
which both
belong to me,
force me to
always be

                                  fighting
for a desire to
live. Both can
be fixed, or
improved, but
I don’t know how

                                  to
do that without
using meds or
therapy. Maybe
I’ll end up having to

                                  live
in a psych ward.
I’d accept that, I
have even once
or twice been

                                  tempted
to check myself
into one. I don’t
know how to do
that, or what

                                  to
expect when I
do, I just know
that I’m not
ready yet to

                                  die.

Mad politicians threaten nuclear war
While madder religious maniacs
Send suicide bombers to **** and destroy.
Bombers brainwashed into believing
That vestal virgins await them in heaven.

Children starve
While adults fight
For bits of land.

A world divided.
Plagued by hate and distrust.
Governments killing their own people
Except when tied by nameless bureaucrats.

Forests and wildlife being cleared away
For the sake of gold or drugs
Or other means of making Money.

It’s a mad, mad world.
In which everyone is born to die.
What use is that?
Perhaps already we are living in
Hell.
Just Saying.

Paul Butters

(C) PB 1\5\2017. 2 new lines added 8\5\17.