Day after day.

 
Sometimes I think about grabbing my pistol and laying it softly on my tongue and close my eyes.

Thinking and thinking, wishing I could just shut my brain down for an hour or two.

Day to day downers pulling me closer to ending it all but somehow something always pulls me back to safety.

I try to pick up my pen without tears flowing down my cheeks.I try and try to put in the effort to create something beautiful but to no avail.

I take another look in the mirror resisting the urge to put my fist through it.

Sleeps not cutting it,I can only imagine what my bodies going through but I don't have time for that I've got a shift in two hours.

Shifting my train of thought to my past failures and success with a feeling of indifference. Different faces everyday no Time to chat just for a little moral boost.

I sit in this dark little room for hours at a time waiting for the day to end.For my hatred for this shit job to simmer down.

I can only shrug as I place the pistol back under my bed.i know it will be waiting there for me tomorrow night like always.