I’m not sure if this even counts as poetry

it’s more so just a vent

I just want to say that I am TIRED

of busting my *** at a job that I hate

so I can barely make my rent.

I argue with my depression almost every hour

she’s a real ***** sometimes

she’s the main reason I have the call in

number to my job memorized

I just feel like it’s all so *******

pointless?

why am I living to work and provide a place for myself to have peace

if being stuck in my head in my “home”

is the last ******* place

I want to be.

I get really tempted sometimes

to just stop.

Stop working

Stop trying

Stop surviving

Stop crying

And then get the hell up

and go.

except I have no place to go

so I don’t

and I won’t

so cheers, I guess.

To paying bills.