To the promulgators of mental distress

To the promulgators of mental distress

I must profess to not knowing anything at all but everyone cannot be medically depressed of this I am sure.

Your life is shit, you’ve got no friends, no talent, no desire, death runs in everybody’s family,

you’re a crappy and boring human creation.

Nobody has ever listened to you and why would they?

You’re a fucking dullard, you stink, your hairs receding and your views are the most ego-centric anybody has ever come across

Bore

Bore

Bore

Fucking bore

In many ways you’re not worthy of life, it is wasted on you and unashamedly you know it and espouse it all too frequently. ‘I wanna die… painfully’

It’s always everybody else’s fault, is it not, for the wonky game of choice you never asked for?

And yet you are jealous of others and do want what they have and perhaps wish them harm even though you have nothing to gain either way?

This frailty often becomes you and you’re lost for days.

The world feels black and white yet every time you act it turns to shit and you feel like glue.

Upon reflection you know what you did wrong but never learn from a single mistake.

Time and time again you cross the tracks blindfolded.

You know not what a metaphor is

and thought of mind skills feel like a quiz

So you ask the angel to get her tits out and cure your affliction,

her reply

is a sigh

with

no inflection.

Sadly there is no cognitive misdirection on your part

no medication that can eradicate the sensation

of a torn asunder, almost deceased, corpsical heart!

Yet the angels grace

left you with the taste of a journey when no z’s would arrive.

In-spite of a deceptive mind

out of the embers of time, will always emerge the chance

of a human being ready to start feeling alive…