When I try to think of the things I want to hear all I come to is a stalemate

 I've been contemplating writing my suicide note for so long,
but all I've written so far was a less than a mediocre song.

Can't stand my tired eyes and crooked smile,
waiting in the same line as my hope has been dying all the while.
As I try to melt off my body,
I grow out of my bones,
spending time on things that are tearing down homes.
Been isolated,
yet the drinks are missing,
been suffering,
yet the days are a blessing.

Times of anew await,
but the papers are still haunting,
will today be the day that I learn to love me?