The disease

My head is sick.

It makes my body sick.

I wonder how to stop the pain.

This cancerous sore in my being, the soul. A sickly, dying soul.

Is this real? Am I real?

Is everything I ever believed to get me through the suicidal times before just a lie?

Because those same things I used to tell myself...

That I was evolving, developing spiritually, they don't work anymore.

And I look back and think they're all something I made up.

The devil's got me good now.

He's got me questioning and doubting. It's exactly what he wants.

Or maybe I really am sick. A diseased soul that is dying and falling apart.

Maybe it's God's plan for me to die.

Because I no longer like myself. I no longer like my soul.

I feel sick and stuck all the time and want to end it with a noose or a gun.

I speak to friends and wise men. They encourage me.

I don't want to do this anymore.