You sit and wallow,
wallow and drown and suffocate
but do nothing to stop the slow,
s l o w progression of madness that is
Even the music is of no help now,
for the saddest songs are just too
happy to bear, and the happy ones
make you want to jump off of
something very tall, or
sharpen the kitchen shears for one last time
before plunging them deep into your jugular.
"You’re fucking pathetic," says the beast within,
but you just laugh.
You already know what you’ve become.
A waste of space, of oxygen.
Even the trees despise your carbon dioxide.
So you shut yourself up, up and off.
Close all the blinds and lock the door,
and surrender to the bleak reality
your life has become.
Hopefully you will just
f a d e
until you completely
d i s a p p e a r