The cobwebs on the ceiling multiply and I am unmoved.
The spiders keep their distance as they watch me.
Waiting to see if this is the day they will die.
Like those spiders, I am also waiting for death-
a welcome end to the torment of daily life, of everything I couldn’t fix.
Welcoming death is a calming nightmare, a cyclical look at my own desperation.
I am waiting for death, but the moments pass too slowly.
Screaming thoughts of self disgust dissolve the solace of idle moments:
“YOU’RE WORTHLESS, BROKEN and breaking more with each passing day.”
Hiding from the world, I embrace this thought of death.
The easy way out can only be found down the darkest of rabbit holes,
So I create my own rabbit holes to test the fate of my detrimental existence.
I spend my days chasing clouds of numbed existence,
and my nights nurturing those persistent thoughts of death.
The weight of despair is deafening and the wait of life has crushed me,
into a battered, bruised and dysfunctional version of who I used to be.
They say that it gets better, but each time it gets worse.
I don’t know how to want things, setting goals, making plans- it all seems irrelevant.
I can only envision the reality of my shortcomings and the missteps I took that led me here.
And so, here I sit, day after day-
Staring at the ceiling, waiting for death, wondering why he doesn’t take me too.