I post this everytime I'm depressed

I lost ten pounds this week
Cause on amphetamines
I don’t really eat,
And I lied to my girl when I swore I’m still clean
And my what a bore is this world
Without sedation I have no patience
And without my addiction my therapist would have no golden patient
And,
If you’d like to compete in the subject of addiction
I’ve been cashing fake scripts
And prescriptions since I was an infant,
And bending the truth with white lies during month 9
Like the worst day my first day yes my fucking birth date
Blowing lines while still inside
Fucking faded and wasted
getting high off my morals
my first words were a warning,
“Enjoy this pain whore
let me have your epidural”

and its two decades later
and what do I have to show
I got a deviated septum from snorting too much coke
I broke up with my girlfriend cause I missed being alone
I’m high as hell writing this,
Not for sympathy cause I know she don’t miss me
And she left me for some new prick-- some rich kid
With a small dick cause she couldn’t look pretty trying not to scream on my dick
Cause that bitch knows I ripped shit
She flows like her lipstick
After that sappy sloppy quick shit,
Nothing spells romance like trying to watch her
gargle my backwash and forgetting to stop her
before I go.

and I’ll admit, none of that is true,
and what do I have to say, well first off fuck you.
Fuck you with your lies your self-asserting bullshit
For hurting my ego, for trying to handle more than I could put up with,
I haven’t drank in 6 months until I relapsed last night
Trying to get a grip on my life
But she swallowed my pride
So I took a few shots and went for a drive
On the loneliest highway to be seen with two eyes
And i called everyone I knew
To find somebody to talk to
But it clicked that no one likes you when you act the way I do
So I’m driving backwards jerking off laughing
Imagining a stained glass windshield on the moment of impact;
Shining lights flashing, am I coming or rolling,
“Jay, you’re truly an addict”
Oh,
I’m addicted to what, the lack of love?
The fact that I love to lack having someone
You’re worth a dime dear,
Cause the calculations real clear

First you get 6 cents on behalf of my sixth-sense
A sick sense that senses a girl that spreads for attention
And you get 4 cents for both times that I lied
When I gave you my two cents
And you followed me home
And just got up to go
After my consolation present for telling you how much you meant
And it hurts less and less
the more and more I confess
And in total confidence, you’re not worth a dime or a penny; not a cent

Or in this lie of a life, this phantom childhood that haunts me each night
Waking up in the hospital with more i.v inside me
Than blood on the bridge where they were surprised to find me
Or two months to the day
The grave yard is grave
A year to the day you abandoned me
But I don’t believe in heaven,
I just believe in hell
Because every drink that I have leads me back down the spiral
Waking up in the psyche-ward to a new clinical trial
Where a cop can get his jollies
Casting me cynical smiles,
But if he took these handcuffs off I’d show him whats what
I’d slit his throat with the back of his badge
And order dispatch to bring my shit back
I can’t drive myself out when they won’t give me my keys
And I can’t sign myself out while I'm strapped with i.v
Because this pig took my i.d
After I was trying to be nice
He threw out my license
Threw cuffs on my wrists
With a vice grip and razored lip
So if I tried to resist they were lifted to dig in
Or when he smashed my chin on the ambulance on the way in
And took his flash light to my ribs cause I was giving him lip
But I wasn’t giving him shit
With the back of my head to the stars—
Face to the pavement
Lips kissing concrete
And the heels of his pig hooves stomping on top of me

Oh, or perhaps I can tell of the lowest level of hell
Swallowing pill after pill
Just to kill how I felt
The only thing I felt when I fell
was the promising grip of the tip of my belt
Wrapped once around the bed post
Twice around my throat
I don’t make threats see cause when I’m ready to go I’ll go
I’m dressed in my best clothes—a black cloak-
My death clothes.

I didn’t cry as I choked,
I’d rather die like a pro
the best message is the ending,
and deservingly so
And the best ending for a poet as most writers know
Is die before the ink dries on this suicide note