What the fucks the point anymore?

Fucking kill me.

Guns scattered, bullets everywhere.
Let's play a game of Russian roulette, but with a twist.
Let's put in all the bullets, and I'll only play.

My blade has dulled, no longer sharp.
Still I hope and pray that it will kill me someday.

Maybe a rope, will be how I cope with life.
I'll tie it tight and dangle from the sky.
But I'm too tall. If just stand there sadly.

So alcohol is what I try. I'll get shit faced and puke up all my forgotten memories.

Either way I still live another day. Hoping for just one mistake. But oh well.

No one should've gave two shits anyways.

Xx