Time isn't actually apart of this
In fact, the clock's been wrong for the better half of the year
My attempt to do away with the one aspect of life
slowly weighing me down.
The grey goose has struck a nerve today
bringing to light it's real notion
that it's only as strong in effect
as I am in mind
And now drunken in my stupor,
Slowly I'll learn the hard way that the alcohol can't save me
It can't give me my why
It can't even give me my what
My domicile is quiet except the stroking of these keys
and the occasional croak of my chair
The only three lights lit come from
the sky, the screen, and the brand new mouse I ordered last week.
My head's woozy, though not as woozy as it was an hour ago
Probably because the more I type
the more my buzz relinquishes itself
I'm afraid now.
I opened up what was supposed to be the most passionate for me
to find it draining me of life
And now I'm stuck
I can't even command my own body,
not because it won't listen
but because I can't find a reason for it to move
I'm not living anymore
My one escape,
the grey goose,
has turned on me
and showed me a revelation I hadn't thought of
That regardless whether I succeed or not,
my ultimate goal is to die
Either I live long enough to get out of the empitiness
only to succumb before it has a chance to reclaim its place
or I never get out through life.
I have half a mind to say fuck all
and end it
A thought that I never knew I was capable of having
much less considering.
I guess somedays are worse than others,
maybe tomorrow brings me the energy I crave.
That's the only thing keeping me alive.