Shit poems, by a shit person

-

There are so many
different ways to go.
My mind is a murder scene.
But the death is my own.
It feels like a bad tv rerun.
Constantly playing,
Somehow unavoidable.
The outcome remains the same,
Except the few actions,
That finally
lead to my death.
I try to explain,
I don't want to live anymore.
They'll say,
You're far too young,
To feel this much sadness.
Proving, I was screwed from the start.
I could slit my wrists,
Watch the blood
cascade out like a waterfall.
Maybe even hang myself,
Watching my face go to a bright red,
To a deep plum.
My body will go cold,
But then the thoughts will stop.
The pressure finally being released.
Like when you're underwater,
But you hold your breath too long.
Your head finally reaches the surface.
And your head starts throbbing,
But the pressures gone,
So you don't care.
It will be a relief
Because
I won't be the depressed person anymore,
I won't be anything.
I will just be.