Meciated

My mind’s a mess,

the thoughts ricochet across my head.

They don’t comprehend, I guess.

They mean well, but reality is what they dread.

They tell me, just pop an Advil.

But what if the pain isn’t physical but mental,

these thoughts won’t leave me alone; I don’t know who I am anymore.

Call up the plug, my personal drug store.

The noise calms down, a fog settles.

We pass around the bottle to drink the pain away,

afraid to face our demons.

So, we do this and call ourselves rebels.

We reach out for help and they tell us to pray?

Yet await the same results? Nothing?

Just lump me with the heathens.

Simple-minded delusions, it’s disgusting.

The fog starts to dissipate

I don’t want to go back just yet,

toss some money and cop a few pills.

The vicious cycle keeps me in my state.

This blurry vision is making me sweat,

I can barely keep my body still.

I’m moving on instinct alone,

and in my pocket the blade I always carry.

We have a game of our own,

if you’re not careful you can split an artery.

Remember kids,

across the road for attention.

Down the road for results.

Sirens blare,

I wonder how I will fair.

I guess that was a little bit of an overkill.

In a way, it’s hysterical.

My adrenaline is pumping,

I don’t know what’s scarier, living or dying.

I really fucked up this time,

I can’t just hit the rewind button.

I was in my prime

and now I’m close to nothin’.

The lights are blinding,

and the doctors are trying and crying.

I hear myself flatline.

It’s all dark now, just like an underground mine

I’m alone again but the pain is gone.

There’s nothing left to wait on.

Oh, and I lied…

This was a suicide.