Drinking Games

I just wanna drink until I can't think straight, because I'm so sick of these gay thoughts. 
I'm so fucked up, I can't sleep it off, I can't sleep at all, it follows me, it's like seeing how hollow I can be, it's like hollow point thoughts to a bullet proof heart. 
Look at me, look at me, I can't stand the reflection that I can see, these suicide notes offer no anomity, it's monotony, it's sick irony, that I can't pen down all these grounded thoughts. I wish that I didn't know myself, I wish a way to change, I wish to wash my sins away, I wish that my heart'd just stop.
Most days I don't wanna wake up, because I do not sleep at all.
I'm struggling to keep my hopes up,
When I have zero faith in a faithless God.
Purpose isn't in the matter of syntax, since syntax and sin seem to slip into one.
The error of my sentences, are the penance I need to put purpose in, but if I told you how how much you mean to me, if I told you that you're the air I breathe, the blood I bleed, the insatiable guilt that I need to feed.
Would you still believe?