I’m tired of all the noise,
of the talkers who never shut up
about better days,
about how the sunrise
means something beautiful.

what sunrise?
I wake up to the stink of another wasted morning—
teeth aching from clenching too hard
against life.
I drink just enough to quiet the questions,
but never enough to stop asking.

people tell you to hold on
but they don’t tell you why.
they tell you there’s more out there,
but they never see you at 3 a.m.
pacing the same ******* floor,
with the same ******* thoughts.

there’s no great romance
in hanging on by a thread—
no one will write songs
for the ones who went quietly,
who stared into the void
and whispered, fine, you win.

I’m not looking for answers.
I’m not looking for heroes.
I’m looking for a way
to stop feeling like every breath
is another bad deal,
another moment borrowed
from something that’s already gone.

so, end me,
or don’t—
I’ll keep staggering along
the crooked line,
but let’s not pretend
it’s anything more than it is:
a slow crawl
toward
nothing at all.