Thoughts of Suicide

Relapse of suicidal ideation
This is not a poem but a cry for help
I work graveyard shift
Yet the nighttime feels warmer than day
A job at a multi billion dollar industry doing security
I see a lot, drunks, prostitution, assholes.
Not a place for a poet, perhaps a dark poet like myself I am where I belong.
Last night I was tempted to go to the roof and jump off. Would the world cry over one less dark poet?
My relationship is on the rocks, near homelessness. A job where I confront the degenerates of society.
All I want is one normal day. But with psychosis I know that will never be.
Normalcy left me and can’t get it back. What is this that plagues me? Poison? A curse? I’m not superstitious but I can’t come to any real conclusion.
You left me, and I can’t get you back.
I’ve tried to connect with the world through my poetry, but it may all be in vain.
Vanity, oh the vanity!
I’ve stopped doing this world any real good.
A writer that can’t get his book finished!
Where will I be tonight when the sun hides herself from me once more?
In death I rise,
In death, I rise.