Skepticism

I've been such a twisting winding road. The road that only leads back to me. The feeling of self contempt only thickening with every wasted day gone by. Struggling through the self loathe, And it's me I don't answer to. You don't care if I suffer. You don't care if I rot. Only do I care. And wither with every sip, Every shot bought. My soul screams a little louder inside with every bottle and Shock Top. I cry for help and not one answers. I know the answer in me, It's so sickening My putrid sense of self worth. I kill myself for the feeling of joy I so holy deserve. Can I have it now ? Will I let me be free? Will I rid myself of this damage I've so longed to be?