I am going to hire a hitman to kill me by pushing me into a moving bus, or concealing razorblades in a cucumber I'm about to eat because I'm too much of a pussy to commit suicide.
Nothing makes sense.
Nothing is starting to look more enticing then living.
I can't cope with the confessions or arguments.
I can't cope with myself.
Self-Esteem nil. Fuck up. Loser. Terrrible. An asshole. Ruining everything important. Never understanding. Narcissistic. With a low I.Q.
I am giving up on hope.
This poem sucks; it's just another way for me to ruin 30 seconds of someone else's life with my own mental problems.
You're a good writer and I look forward to what you write. Keep your head up.
ReplyDeletelife is getting to be too much. bad thoughts. i just want to go to sleep.
ReplyDelete