A Suicidal, Drunk, Insomniac

I have forgotten the feeling of what normality means.

I float around within a numbness submerged within a dream.

I see the world pass faster every single day.

I see my end come closer, I see the future become shorter;

 I can’t help but slaughter the time as I begin the decay.

It’s hard to find blame, but it’s a rationale thought to try and understand how this happened.

The worse thing about it all?

Is that if I felt something it could be deemed as comical?

As somehow inside I’m the only person to blame about the rise of my youth and my soon to be death.

The beautiful end.

I don’t have it within me, and they suicide is selfish.

If that’s the fucking truth then I’ll have to drink myself to death; Take the long route.

I have to pretend that everything is ok, I have to act like I’m the perfect man.

I have to put all other people first, and then attack myself when I can.

It’s mainly in the night,

When I can be quiet, and cold.

I see through all of the bullshit,

 I can remove the vail of society and moral code, THEN I GET TO TAKE WHAT I AM OWED, LIKE LITTLE PIECES OF MY SOUL, SO THAT THEY CAN BE SOLD TO THE DEVIL.

 For just another little drink.

The Devil can be kind, at least the devil can provide me with sleep.

selfish mansad poemssuicidealcoholic

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