Hipsters.

If this blade was meant for my wrist, then why is it that I can’t cut? 

If this noose fits tight round my neck, then why hesitate to give up?       

If this task is so easy to accomplish, why do i feel so ashamed?           

If this life i have was gifted to me, then who am i going to blame?

I drink until I forget the world or smoke until i'm no more                     

This life I live and breathe and feel, 
Yet these feelings are never secure.  

If it means the end of the world for me I've been high, I've been low and can quit 

But this loss of love on many account feels pretty fucking shit.

If i sit and dwell these thoughts collide,

The result of which drove me mad,

Crazy to think i cared for nothing, content with what i once had.

If these pills will put me to sleep, I should take them all and go under.

Why is it when I’m close to the edge, My mind and my heart both sunder.