Today was the 12th time I told a psychiatrist " I don't have a reason to be here."
The doctor's lips curled
her pen clicked
and she wrote so fast I swear I think the woman actually thought she found the my differential diagnosis frontier.
She holds her hand out and places it superintendant on top of the ones that belong to me
Two folded hands and a foreign one on top trembling in in falsely portrayed sympathy
Her words like a smokers cloud blew threw space and time
She exhaled an accustomed statement " I know it's hard"
But that's just it, isn't it?
I don't want to say it's particularly ' hard ' having an existence as arbitrary as mine.


When you step on a bug crossing your path do you really cross any sort of moral line?
Probably not, because there are two things you can't really ******
One being the negligible, and two being the thoughts in your brain that intertwine.
and if I leave this god forsaken planet i'm afraid that's all i'll be
a neuroelectrical plague; a vague and useless memory
Because no one will make requiem for ugly cadavers
and I feel i'm slipping deeper into unconsciousness without any form of stagger
When the pills are on the rise
no one cares if another ' arbitrary ' kid dies
Why should they?
The kids were never even alive in the first place...