I think about killing myself most days and I’m so sad. I wish I could feel alright. But the pain in my head won’t let me think or breathe and I’m trapped in this awful vicious cycle of what it is to be alive. Oh wish me to death cause I can’t take this no more, of the same, of the same, of pretending to be okay. Talking to the same friends, like I’m still sane; though they know in truth I wish I was dead each day. Oh bring me down to earth so I can feel a thing that isn’t just the things inside my head that I can’t even touch or really feel and yet, feel so much like fake-real-fake-real-reality to me. Oh I’m so tired of this, and that, and this, and living out this nightmare knowing this day and the next they’re not going to be the last. Just like yesterday and that day before that day. And oh I have to live for my friends, but somehow they don’t understand the sacrifice I make to live in this terrible waste land of a place. I guess I’ll just gone on and on until I’m not no more. Oh the horror. The horror. The horror I behold. I wish I didn’t have to think that everyone around me wishes I was dead for all that’s wrong with me inside my head. I wish I was okay could feel a thing in a good way. But still I’m stuck in this old maze. No way to know to live each day. I guess I’ll hide my anxieties away, and pretend the world, pretend it away. See the bright side of the world let the bad fade away. The way my hollow words seem to bounce off the shells around me, watching in utter agony as I speak so blatantly blankly. So uneloquent I can hardly speak of it.