I have bottomed out and my future doesn't fit
into my schedule.

All booked up on depression and self-loathing.

Buried deep in sleep from passing out, no time to
plan ahead.

Someone please tell me, why do i think this way?

Someone please tell me that this isn't the end of
everything.

A chemical imbalance? No. The smell of my own
vomit lost in my last tears.

No more kissing clocks or throwing coins into
wishing wells to try and fix the way I fucked
myself.

When it's finally here, it's never enough and
when it's finally gone, it's never coming back.

Somehow I fooled myself into believing that this
would work out, that I wouldn't end up hurt.