the hopeful hopeless

why am i still here
instead of in the bathtub
slashing razor on wrist
until enough blood goes
down the drain to
take my life with it?

why when i so badly
want to die, to leave
this place, this state of
mind, this depression
this torture, why when
it's all i can think of
am i still here, writing?

you think i have hope
in what? in life.
you think i am waiting
for what? for tomorrow.
but tomorrow will just be
another day, stained with
today's tears. and maybe,
the blood of suicide