Game over

Mon, 12/02/2019 - 15:50 -- Psych0

Help me.
I don't want to breathe.
I hate my life
Hand me a knife.
Hand me that gun.
Please someone.
I'm lost.
I feel like trash you can just toss.
Replaceable.
Erasable.
I'm exhausted from hurting.
I'm suffocating, suffering, burning.
I have no friends.
Alone to the bitter end.
This is all just a game, that I must play.
And no one cares if I wake anyway.
I give up.
I've had enough.
Break the controller.
Game over.

This poem is about: 
Me

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