I'll etch these words onto my soul.
Embedding information on space time.
Til the black holes consume it.

I wish I was dead.
I wish I wasn't here.
I wish I wasn't breathing, thinking, seeing, feeling.
Anything other than hate, anger, and depression.

Dismal derided desolation.
Living low, down and out.
Merely getting through each day.
An eternal indictment of my distaste.

For.
Existing.

And, I take it personal.
That God won't let me die.

*******.
I didn't wanna exist.

Yet here I am.

Stuck with.
More unanswered prayers.