and here is the rest of my shit.

Empty bottle, empty soul,
Drink another drop to fill the hole,
Where did all the happiness go?

How much longer until you break me?
When will beautiful death come take me?

I run my hands through my hair,
Whoever said that life was fair?

These drunken flailings, they never fail me,
To provide some peace, a momentary release,

From my own worthless existance here.
A friend once told me depression fits me as a glove,
not to tight nor to snug,

A chokehold on the soul,
until its dead and cold.

until my body lies unbreathing and old,
forever shoveling dirt to fill this hole.

of my own grave, headstone depraved.
a faceless, nameless, rotted sack of shit.

i imagine it would be easier to quit.
maybe ill be ok when i sober up a bit.