The world is against me.

Everything makes me sick, I have no one.

I am alone.

Sometimes I want to end it all, they won't miss; no one will.

Other times I imagine someone else planning my demise. There are so many ideas that the new ones stick in my mind.

Anything that comes up sets me off like a match lighting a fuse.

Why can't I do it? It sounds so easy… though one time I came really close.

That night I slit my wrists and would have died; mom called the fucking ambulance damn it… came so fuckin close… I survived.

If I don't do this myself, maybe the nest time I get stopped by a cop… he will shoot me in the head.

Maybe I'll die of lung cancer… a slow and painful death from cigarettes.

Anything will work… I just want to die.