I'm sick and tired
of being a constant
catastrophe

I'm sick of not seeing
bones, but instead,
rolls of flesh.

I'm sick of all the whispers
as soon as I walk away,
no one liked me any ways.

I'm sick of the pointing,
the stares, the hatred
I see in front of me.

I'm sick of hating me,
and you,
and everyone else.

I'm sick of my world crumbling
right before my eyes,
there's nothing I can do.

I'm tired of wasting my time,
with nothingness,
and emptiness.

and now I am nothing but a shell
with no body and no thoughts.
Gone.

Gone with the sound of a shot,
going to the depths of hell,
simply because of the way I lived.

gone

gone 

gone