Sick Of Being Alive Poem by James Bush

I am sick of being alive,
in my head I try to dive.
Trying to figure why I feel this way,
not listening to what others have to say.

Trying to give advice to others,
while myself I want to smother.
I sit in the dark trying to cope,
alone and thinking I am a dope.

As I sit here thinking how to end it all,
I try to start out a little small.
Should I use a knife,
to end my pathetic life?

Am I worth alive and breathing air?
If I died would anyone even care?
My head and thoughts are spinning,
while the darkness starts winning.

As my inner demons creep,
I wish I could sleep.
Making these thought go away,
for the time keeping them at bay.

Feeling like a human disgrace.
a waste of lonely space.
Praying for my life to end soon,
just waiting for my doom.