Fuck


Euphoria is glorious;
Depression is expressionless.
A week ago I saw the universe,
But today I only see walls.
They stand tall,
Yet I am no longer appalled at all.
I don’t know if it’s a game,
Or just my bad luck,
But I have green genes
That give me ripped jeans.
You could call me the sad hulk,
As I drag my feet and sulk.
I saw everything a bit ago
But now all my yes’s are no’s
And my friends look like foes.
I don’t know.
I don’t fucking know anything.
Let me be.
I cannot see.
I cannot feel glee
Or drink tea from the cup of life.
A knife was stuck in my head
Long ago,
And I let it sit.
My brain is not well,
Somewhere along the line I fell.
Somehow I cannot sell
Myself the ad for consistency.
I cannot feel happy very often,
But I don’t always want to be in a coffin.
Bipolar fucking sucks,
Feeling ashamed of how my brain sucks fucking sucks.
Shooting ducks at an arcade is just like my addiction for wasting money because I keep losing.
Flicking coins into a fountain is the same as wishing my wishes would wish themselves into reality.
Writing because I can’t speak the right words is like putting on tinted prescription glasses because you’re not quite sure if it’s the light that’s wrong or your eyes.
Hoping I can live a good life feels like hoping I win March madness.
This is madness.
This is insanity.
Vanity.

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