Maybe?

Maybe if I punch enough walls, 
and take enough of those pills. 

My crooked smile will return, 

because this depression, it kills, 

every shred of happiness in my soul, 

every shred of hope within this wreck, 

that I call my body, isn't it funny? 

Outside it is always so sunny, 

but my mind is clouded in darkness, 

a never ending ocean full of sad, 

a bottom less puddle on the sidewalk.

when it could be nothingness instead. 

Sometimes I wish I couldn't feel a thing, 

but this Apathy is worse than any sadness, 

Atleast I can feel anything. 

however terrible it might be,

whatever it might bring. 

Because I cannot even begin, 

to describe the selfhatred I feel when I look, 

just look at my future, or my life. 

Being alive stings like a knife, 

down im my stomach, 

I'd rather be dead, 

than feel this nothingness. 

And yet when the curtain lifts, 

the only thing that comes through is hate. 

Sometimes I think that it might be to late, 

to late to save the child that couldn't wait, 

to grow up, and now has too much on its plate.