Plots & Plans

Everyday I have one thought in mind,
It's the thought that I want to die.
I'm depressed,alone,and out of sync,
I get so upset I begin to plot and think.

Would I be a coward if I took my life?
Even if life itself didn't feel quite right?
I just don't understand why I'm this way,
From hour to minute,every night and day.

I see my shrink but he really doesn't care,
He sits in his chair taking notes as I share,
All the shit that's been consuming me inside,
Except the plots I keep of my own suicide.

I write this poem at three thirty in the morning,
I can't seem to sleep while my wife is snoring.
I bought razor blades at the store last weekend,
Plans are in the making and this isn't for pretend.