Can't see straight

I can't see straight. I can't feel right. Nothing's alright.

Feelin' lonely, only warmth during the winter is my bottle o' liquor. It is my saviour. I ain't even got no money for dinner.

Cigarette smoke, two joints, pinpoints my troublesome mind. Broken ego, it's my time. to go. go. go.

Crying daily, enraged in my self-loathsomeness, trying not to regress. I have no regrets.

As the smoke burns bright, during the midnight. I close my eyes wishing for my demise.

Brightened colours illuminate, indoctrinate my mind.

My mind grasping for salvation and mitigation as part of my emendation.

If I had to explain my situation I'd say that my life is like an animation, kinda like an illustration. It comes across as quite an intimidation. have i died? Have i reached an new high.

I puff, puff, puff on my magic dragon, hearing herons swimming up stream.

It makes my mind rotate, while it incorporates these beautiful colours, kaleidoscopic; it accommodates my mind.

It's as hard to communicate as i rotate, because the bottle o' liquor sparkling towards my jugular whispers gently, drink on. and go, go, go.

If i had to approximate I'd say someone's trying to assassinate me. His name is me. Always on edge, always looking for a way out. But never, ever in sight.

So i drink a lil more, i smoke a lil more, and i die just that bit more.

Numbing my mind, from the shit my father taught brought me these, suicidal ideation without mitigation. As part of my fixation on living. Struggling to eat, or eating to much from the medication there appears no salvation.

Brain dead, no hope, no hoe. Pimping bitches, raising terror and breaking hearts taking a draw out of my darts.

Sleepless, restless nights. Longing for a heavenly connection, a type of medication, human interaction that will soothe thy soul.

Fear, anxiety, depression and suicidal ideation is a daily.

Emotionally dead, long lost highs and lows nothing but a dull unholy melancholy

Everyone needs a plan. Mine is just to cease existence. As I hold a knife to my throat I am frozen with hesitance. Unsure of the mystery of death and absent minded of the miracle of life. Like a pig in a cage on ecstasy; nothing but hopeless joy trapped within mine mind begging for a release.

As every day I grow more weary and dreary each day wishing to be my last. I know that tomorrow and tomorrow's tomorrow will be a constant uphill struggle with the weight of a million tears weighing me down slowly drowning me, gasping for air that is hope, love, laughter and joy. A long lost memory with no salvation. There is no end to this suffocation.