Clinging to life

I've got the Monday morning red-wine blues, staring down at scuffed
shoes and thinking about Carbon Monoxide. I guess after its all over
tonight I could drive Padraic's car into some quiet timber yard and
breathe in death. Alternatively I can embrace this day, that looks like
the cold of winter has passed and battle through it with these
fragmented thoughts in tow. Today is the solidity of grief and mania,
meshed in the dangerous tangle of flippant despair. This may be
sickness but it feels like a shadowed spider's web. I said the drugs
don't work and nobody listed to me, just left me at the bus stop
watching the others catch the bus one by one, heading off in a cloud of
diesel smoke that rises like a peacock's plumage in the glorious haze
of a spring day. You're not holding me, I can feel everything you know.
Know when there is emptiness behind it all. I wanted you to hold me for
real, but you're not for real. I'm too old in my youth for salvation,
too scared of afterdeath to die. Medication is for the brain but my
sorrow is born of the heart and soul.

Sometimes when I dream of hell I scream for release but no-one comes.
Engulfed in lonliness, will these sad wings of destiny fly me into
comfort? Wanting to cling to something soft. Wanting, waiting, endless
waiting in the agony of solitude. Have I the courage to turn a car into
a gas chamber? Make this day my last and grant eternal rest, perpetual
light. I feel rather foolish showing you this desire to die and still
being here week after week to hold onto your mechanical hand.