a book of useless poetry

endless

Sometimes finding hope seems almost hopeless.
Pain and misery Allways endless.
I chose this path I should be hung.
Or like a mop wet and rung.
I set besides the urban setting.
My tons of pills keep resetting.
Me myself and I will see our ways outside.
Looking for the ways before we have died.
For pain isn't the nicest to bet.
To deal with pain is a hastey regret.
My life is fragile and unstable.
To reach the help I feel unable .
Trapped endlessly hopelessly and worse than before.
Mental health seems like a cruel war
I find myself never at the end.
Digging deeper and deeper loosing everyone and everything I once was able to defend.