I lay myself down
pills in my hand
time ticking, echoing, reverberating
through my head

this thought i cannot shake
no matter how hard i try
the need for it to end
the want for me to try

but somehow i always manage
to talk myself down
I'll walk back from the station
bare feet bleeding from the ground

Occasionally I'll wish so hard
for something tragic to just strike
like a car tumbling over me
to rid me of my misery

and yet i have this very tradition
every couple of nights
where i lay down with my oxycodone
in bed and i just cry

I don't think I'm depressed
I know its not my anxiety
Anxiety is just a word to me
And depression is but a sound.

I continually ask a question
Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?
and though i ask my councellors
I've never received a straight reply.




So why?

Why do i always want it to just end?


Surely I don't hate myself that much