I don't think I'm happy but who the **** cares.
Many a times I play pretend and laugh with friends but I know deep down I'm just shriveling up.
Sometimes I think about killing myself, I don't believe I'll do it. I'm not strong enough for even that I guess. But I do think about it,
oh do I think about it.
And then I think what life would be like if I just laid down and didn't get up.
Oh do I think about it.
Sometimes and always.
Hallways seem longer, days get shorter and ever breath I take doth not make me stronger just closer to where I feel like I should be at this point.
Dead. Or just gone maybe. Alone.
These poems used to serve me a purpose; to release but now I'm just seeing me
And I don't like to look in the mirror.
Thats where I look to see something I fear, holding on but near insanity I'm digging into a rut.
Please don't listen to me.