As suicide dominates my mind this Xmas season I thought I'd post some shit I wrote back in July of 2002:
I sit and wonder why
for so long I've wanted to die
and everything I do
even though none of it is new
tears my security away
my stability cannot be kept at bay
And I would have thought
that by 24 I'd have been taught
how to make it in this world
and how to live out the wisdom I borrowed
but with anxiety owning me
my personal identity
can't be free
And with my worst fear
of each cigarette's end near
I live through these days
with enjoyment in a haze
And positivity giving me hope
I decide again to cope
Only to be denied
every hope or dream I've tried
And during the last breath of life
optimism is the knife
which cut the jugular wide
and motivation must abide
by the anxiety which consumes
and in the end brings all dooms
If only I could be
the part of me I can see
when ruminations are left alone
and there are no obsessions to clone.
These are the times which are few
between the prescriptions I do
striving to feel good
can't be done like it should
For all dreams end
and all roads bend
The benevolence of life has died
and all truths have been falsified
so I sleep my life away
and desire for consciousness never to stay
since dissatisfaction is what I feel
about myself and what is real
when I can't act how I want
or rid the emotions which haunt
Then I wish I could
be myself as I should
But my heart beats so fast
and my mind thinks so rash
that I can't speak what I mean
and anxiousness drives me like a fiend
Id rather be dead than who I am not
I guess, then, suicide is what I ought
Because the anxiety disorder which is me
is not what I'm going to be.
