I have bottomed out and my future doesn't fit into my schedule.

All booked up on depression and self-loathing.

Buried deep in sleep from passing out, no time to plan ahead.

Someone please tell me, why do i think this way?

Someone please tell me that this isn't the end of everything.



A chemical imbalance? No. The smell of my own vomit lost in my last tears.

No more kissing clocks or throwing coins into wishing wells to try and fix the way I fucked myself.



When it's finally here, it's never enough and when it's finally gone, it's never coming back.

Somehow I fooled myself into believing that this would work out, that I wouldn't end up hurt.