the anxiety is consuming me whole

the problem is the loneliness

a weak little bitch who is lugubrious

irredeemable piece of shit

vomit on his chin from the pills and the liquor

the boy is fucked up off the goop because he can’t function otherwise

can’t get out of bed, go to work, or make a friend

only way he can is with the goop up in his head

another worthless waste of space

somebody help him kill himself

because the boy is so lost, confused, and scared

he can’t move and yet he tumbles further into the abyss

violently thrashing mind hidden by sullen countenance

can’t reach out because his mental won’t allow it

he stands in the flames as God laughs at the boy

denies His boy death so he can savor the mental torture

torchlight identifies the scarified remains

nothing needs to be explained

just the bullet in his brain

he’s fucking dying and the boy does nothing

he’s fucking crying ‘cause the boy wants something

his vision of the world is clouded up by himself

he stands and is overtaken by his own shadow

he can’t see anymore

his suffering cannot be understood

it isn’t meant to be understood only ended

by the hand that is forced to feel it

“You know, ma, I love ya. I love you, too, dad. It doesn’t have anything to do with that. Yeah, I love my friends too. It has nothing to do with them. It’s just over. I’m done. I have been awake for as long as I can and I’d like to sleep eternally. It’s nothing personal.”

You know what, playa, we ‘bout to goop up. You on it, mane?

You know you can slang mad pussy when you chill ya nerves with that ol’ dex, mane.

You become that real thug you always shoulda been, mane,

All you gotta do is schlurp some of that goop and you’ll be on it, lil mane.

behold my suffering

look at the scars on my arm

peek inside to see the emptiness

a life pained by growing stress

to find a way out that isn’t death

look upon my broken neck

marvel at my lovely purple necklace

push the softened flesh and watch my black blood froth forth

gaze at my crumpled skull

look through the window in the back

made by buckshot blasts

I struggled hard, but didn’t last

my face frozen in a fell grin

whose splayed skin and mangled teeth could easily fit a gun between

two lips lightly hanging from what’s left of my skull