I want to die

And that's not just a saying
I want to rip my lungs out
And stop myself from breathing
I've grown to hate not love
The so called "temple" He gave me
Day by day, always at thought
Accompanied with only the beauty of death
And the overwhelming feeling of envy
I'm tired and I just don't know
How to keep this facade on longer anymore
I'm sick in the head
But no one seems to care
I'm tired of the mistakes
And of the people who are never there

So I'm writing this poem
It's stupid I know
A bunch of useless thoughts
Put together for a final show
Maybe I'll be gone after you read the last word
Maybe I'll be crying to sleep again
Maybe I'll fantasize of shooting myself in the head
Maybe...

But I don't know

n.j.