None of you were worth it
You made me worthless
Able to love less
Daily a failed test
Deserving a holed chest
A bullet not a vest
Time to give it a rest
Suicide at its best
© Delia Ross. 2020
My best friend had the right idea putting a 357 Magnum gun to her head and blasting a bullet through her brain ending her precious litte life before age 14.
I don’t know why I stuck around this long lying to myself pretending things would get better. They have not.
My best friend’s mom later hung herself on a fucking rope at like age 46 and I’m not far from it.
Edgar Allan Poe couldn’t live without love either and died on the fucking street naked, unknown, poor, fucking broke, and heartbroke. I dare say he was depressed too and I’m officially diagnosing Edgar Allan Poe as depressed. People haven’t got much better. BEASTS in CARDIGAN. Some without a backbone or spine. That’s why they can easily replace you on a dime they’re empty and soulless.
Suicidal and out of fucks to give.
Too much gaslighting and narcissism in the world. No love or nurturing coming in.
The sheeple over run.
I WANT OUT. LET ME OUT
*free yer mind* *okie dokie* *if you die in the Matrix you die in the real world* *jumps from bridge*