An end that never comes

Music, meth and some pills for depression,
Are all that I need
to survive in this lonely world of grey.
A disappointment to everyone and a bipolar asshole;
I am but a leech.
Some may call me an idiot, others; a jester,
I live for the smiles I put on peoples faces,
Only to be greeted by police vans and later, leg braces.
“What is the point of life?” I ask myself, sulking in a terrible world of emotion.
Oh look, a funny little head with invisible lotion. A delusion?
I tell myself that it’ll end one day,
I tell others the most random things ever, for I live for their laughter.
Serenity and rebellion, two things that don’t go together,
are in my mind, all the time, feasting on a lump that just gets bigger.
My sardonic nature has caused many a great friend to give up and leave.
Oh depression, thou art a friend, not a foe,
for I have found an excuse for all that I do with aggression,
broke a vase? Blame it on the depression.
“Don’t go near him.” They say, “He might just cry and laugh at the same time.”
I sit alone, with open arms,
waiting for an end that never comes.