Depressed; The option of Life and Death
Weighing the options of life and death, fantasizing. Damn, it’d be nice to press a .38 smith & wess. up against my flesh, a brother finally feel’n blessed once the trigger’s pressed.
Deep thoughts about my family………how would they react, insomniac, left this world like a maniac. A self-inflicted gunshot left me stretched out, stressed out, so depressed I chose the best route. This shit I’m facing is got me sitting at the edge of my bed, head aching cause I’m crying as I beg to be dead. I can’t wait until this hot slug enters my head.
Dear God I can’t believe my life has come to this, I soak my arms up in ice to try to nub my wrists. I think about the opportunities I’ve had and blown, got nothing else to do but think cause that alone, my hope is gone. I went to college but I fucked it up, got kicked out but my heart told me, “suck it up.” So I did, and spent the next few years in hell. I’m loosen job after job seeing dreams fail; seeing brothers who aint shit get the luxuries, nice guys finish last, who gives fuck for me. Reluctantly, I put the barrel underneath my chin, my only witness is my best friend vicodin, he knows my sins cause I lean on him every night, his shoulders always there when me and God fight, I close my eyes tight, my life and death is just another news highlight, good-bye life.
Dear God do you listen when I cuss you out, don’t it provoke you to respond to what I’m fuss’n about? Don’t it concern you that I’m loosen my belief, confusion from massive grief, got me on my knees, why are you refusing to send relief?
I spend most of my lonely existence thinking, conversating, telling the master of creation what I’m contemplating, arguing, sometimes yelling, tears swelling, threatening to put one in my melon, finally expelling my tormented soul from this unbearable hell I dwell in. Asking God, “am I not forgiven for my crimes in a previous life? Was I sinner, cursing God in a devious life? Does Jesus Christ hold a grudge against me while others live the easiest life, with no struggles, no stress, no tests, never knowing demons like loneliness, never depressed, never jobless, never on there hands and knees begging God please cure this poor mans disease? If your listening God speak to me and answer these————-Why do good people feel Satan’s wicked embrace? Why are good people sick in this place? Why are good people forced to live a life that is empty and stressed, while the wicked seem happy and blessed? Talk to me; cause the devils trying to walk through me. Please, will you respond, or will the coroner be forced to put the chalk to me?”
Deep, huh? Yeah, I’ve thought about it. Have you? Sometimes it seems much easier to exit this world than to endure the constant struggles of the minds emotional self-torment.
No Mercy
