Praying for the end.

When you take your meds and yet the hills are lower but the valleys deeper, you just want to die.
Nobody understands and money only postpones the inevitable.
People can’t understand, and sometimes nor can I.
But the way life is I just want to die.
I have no hall nor gun and thus can’t commit this ‘crime’ but I do have a death wish and that is mine.
When the meds do nothing but society asks, that you still take them to be all “well”
But you know that death cannot come quick enough
Though I fear and dread it
It solves all ills
My joblessness, friendlessness, lack of highs in the hills
Everything is low yet I can’t do it, nobody knows nor understands
I shall not ever jump of a bridge, fire a gun, or do something other
But what I will do is pray
That I will soon die
No sh’ma for me today for I pray that I shall not pray for too many days

If everything was all peachy, that unintended poetry would be my last earthly creation. But the way it works since I’m a fucking ***** it won’t be, and I’ll suffer, like nobody understands, for life. Bipolar isn’t real if it is treatae. I’ve tried all TVs drugs, all they do is make living harder or slightly more fluid. Fuck this shit, why can’t I just die. I don’t want to see it, I just want it to happen.
Yet next week, I’ll see my doctor, tell him I wrote a hopeful suicide note and my drugs will be raised, so this filthy society that rejects me can feel a little bit better when I do finally get relieved of my earthly suffering.

Written on a fucking iPhone, because who gives a fuck.