In the office but it feels more like a getaway. I don’t know really what I want to say.
Or what I want to play or how I will choose to live my life today.
Or tomorrow.
I know that I feel drenched in sorrow.
I feel full of a rage and a pity for myself that I can’t swallow
That I can’t stomach, but I eat these feelings and try to let them out
That’s why blocks away they can hear and feel me shout.
I’m out.
But I am in because suicide is still a sin and I, sinner that I am
Still pretend that this is all for fam
But I’m just pretending and I am just a pretender
a fraud; send a message to my soul it comes back return to sender
There is nothing there.
Except maybe fear.
Except maybe tears.
Except maybe excuses for the weight I cannot bear.
So we find ourselves back here.
The definition of a man is the legacy he leaves behind.
Mine?
Shame, sadness, people on the decline.
I’m taking and shaping once great minds
Into the kind of debris and filth you never want to find, and that is what
I leave behind
When I am gone.
So instead I say. I wish sometimes I had a God to whom I could pray, because May-
Be
He might find it in his philosophy to bless me with the power to be more than just me and more than just eventually or why can’t he or why won’t he ever be or ever see that she is enough for he and
then
Perhaps one time I could win over sin
And then want to live yet again.
Amen.