Laissez-Faire Despair

I measure my state of depression by the books I am able to read,
when it becomes impossible to enjoy any hilarious romp by Terry
Pratchett, when Ecclesiastes and Proverbs are the only reading
material with any relevance - my mental gyroscope has come to
a standstill

As noise irritates me more and pressure is forcing me out of my
head and all I want is darkness, silence and death, it is time to
take drastic steps to feel better again, as I waft about in a smell
of Vicks VapoRub and swallow coloured sinus pills by the hand-
ful every hour

And start to hate and despise all forms of consciousness and life,
seeking the meaning of existence as opposed to happy non-being,
it is time to visit a quack to obtain poisonous concoctions and life-
shortening toxins to take the seasonal discomfort away, to stop
the disease

Which leads straight to the nihilism of laissez-faire despair...