I might really do it this time.
Why should i see another sun?
what is wrong with me that no one wants to be around me?
why am i even here.
and even when people like me
i spend too much time trying to figure out why.
i Just hate how slowly the moments drip by.
like molasses in Alaska.
even if the plan is “dystopian nightmare”
or “utopian daydream”
I’m losing the sense that any of it is worthwhile.
the socks are stuffed.
I’ve had enough.
just like that time we road tripped
and the dogs slept so peacefully in the backseat
you were so tired yet you got us home safely;
time to lay down to sleep in the passenger side once more.
Take me home.