Four lines poem.
Today is my birthday. All I want to do is sleep, sleep, sleep.
Depression is a fucking cunt … mind my French.
Just another day,going down, down way deep.
Pass me a big fat blunt and lay me in the trench.
Life in patches.
Moments are only that. Gone before our eyes. Flashes of contentment. Hollow, empty and uncertain.
But uncertainty is one of the few certainty. I know that I don’t know. I’m not ok with it but it is what it is.
Overwhelming lies we are told, that we so desperately want to believe.
I don’t believe but I do hope … sometimes.
