I hate myself, I wish I would die.
Its like starring death in his eyes.
But death never makes a move or sound.
Its like time stopped but everyone moves around.
I flirt with razors and guns.
Only stopping because of my daughters and son.
If something takes me, take me soon.
I wish I would die this very afternoon.
To much stress, to much pressure.
To much pain, not enough pleasure.
Quietly laying and starring at the ceiling.
Suffering from a malfunctioning thing called feelings.