Dont really know if youd call this a poem as such...

Dont really know if youd call this a poem as such...
Yes, I do still write, but these days its only when Im particularly inspired to do so, and generally arent anything to be proud of. This is no different, but the little burst of poetry in recent made me want to share something back. So I went for a rummage and this is what I came up with. A product of my latest depressive implosion. I feel better again now, so dont go getting sympathetic and pitiful for lil olde me now, mkay.
I have lost the will to live,
or maybe I never had it.
I dont remember ever wanting to.
Just fearing not to.
Too scared to make it *stop*...
Its cheating anyway:
If you have to suffer,
why should i not too?
I just want not to exist,
in any time and space.
Is that so *wrong* a thing?
But I dont know how,
and death is not the same.

So here I live without the will to.
Where every effort is torture.
Where escape is the only fun.
Refugee from reality.
Procrastination delays the end.
I dont know what to do with this unwanted life that doesnt love me.
I would give it to someone else.
I would deny it in the first place.
I would break my hand...
just to make something happen.
To avoid the work I have no passion for.
But rewards are for people who are different
who have passion and faith
who make efforts for them.
i have neither passion nor faith.
I have not the will nor the effort.

I feel doomed to fail.
To waste a life given me.
to only ever feel the echos
the shades of emotions:
Hate & Love
Happiness & Sadness
Anger & pride
The feelings I get are these:
fear depression guilt apathy disgust anxiety.
all directed at myself.
Not that *my* self is a very defined thing.
Why do I slump so low,
when all that happens is *life*?
when other people keep going, and making efforts?
I cant be bothered.
Not 'I dont want to'
I cant.
Sometimes I do want to do it.
Whatever "it" is... life.
But I cant. I try, and I fail.
I dont try and its just as bad.
I try again and determination fades and dies and I am left behind,
to try again; to motivate myself.
But I have no inertia.
No momentum.
And the world has so much friction to stop me again
every time
at any time.
So give me a life I can use,
or just gift me death.
I am beyond caring
which you choose.