The Fate Of Mentality Poem by Edward H.

Sometimes I think, I think a lot. I've never had a moment without melancholy thought.
I ask what it's like to die, or how one could do it.
I think about life, and how I'll get through it.
Do I hold value, and do I have meaning?
Towards what fate of thought am I leaning?
Am I going insane, or simply mad?
Can I feel emotion, or am I constantly sad?
We all die one day, so is it all worth it?
We work tirelessly through life, then die, and desert it.
If I think this way, then where's my will to hold my life?
Though my pensive, distressed stages of strife?
That's a big question I still ponder today,
So which way will I lean? To die, or to stay?