Why?

    

     As I ride past the racing scenery on a warm, July morning; I look for tall buildings or bridges from which to fling myself. Hope is a submerged candle covered by a wool blanket in a wet, dark cave. I foresee no change in my current situation except for perpetuation. Despair grips me like a crushing vice squeezing a grape. I twist and squirm violently to escape it's metal jaws, but to no avail. I am officially and totally fucked for lack of a better word. All my waking thoughts are filled with worry, self-pity, sorrow, and a darkness like no other I have ever experienced.
     I often wonder what I would do if by some chance, I gained access to the roof of where I work. I can see myself standing on the edge looking down unto the hot pavement below. I know that my damned self-preservation would kick in, and I would start shaking and back away from the edge. It's almost like life is mocking me sometimes. It whispers hateful things in my ears. It speaks of no escape and payment for all my mistakes and sins... It openly laughs at me and questions my very existence. It's a son of a bitch!