Already Dead.

When people hear you have these thoughts, they often tell things like, "If you do that you'll go to hell."

But what if I'm already there, in my own mental jail?

Do they know how it feels to be so numb yet overwhelmed?

To get a tight chest and fight to breathe, unable to see a future you care to weave?

To spend every shave thinking about dragging the razor cross your throat?

To wake every morning and wish tomorrow you don't?

To look at a river and wonder if you'd float?

To stand on the edge of every height considering taking flight?

When all you feel is pain, what's left to explain?

If all life is suffering, from living more, what is really to gain?

Is the only purpose to stop the ones you love from feeling that pain?

If so then maybe it's inevitable,

Even if the conclusion is so objectable,

One day selfishness will scream to stop suffering,

And selflessness will no longer keep you dithering,

So whether I make it to a ripe old age,

Or if I put a slug through my brain and scatter my skull,

Whether I dangle from a rope and you find I swing to-and-fro,

Do not fret over the threats that I made,

Maybe I'll finally have peace when I'm out of my brain?

Maybe things will be better when there's no thought in this head?

Yes, I'm still breathing,

But oh, so long I've been dead.