Reflective Suicide
They say life is a mix poetry and passion
Why not “Make a pair” & try to fuckin’ match ‘em
not happening… it’s like a mix of bag of goodies
Reapers a Goth rapper wearing black--fuckin’ hoodies
Life’s a gory horror--we were bloody at fuckin’ birth
Carried from the hospital straight dropped in a hearse
A curse--we shouldn’t have ever even moved
Dangling one legged-in graves we never even sluiced
Abused our relations at best--Failed every test ………..
And let loose the rage of being fuckin’ worth-less
I’m not sad----I’ve lived life passively in dread
Saw her getting smacked---I couldn’t careless
Just another drugged out friend of a departed cokehead
He deals in Fuckin ‘lies- telling me I’d be fear—less
I see him dart away—at my angers fuckin’ rise
Forgive me for this shit—just thoughts before my demise
See I’m an example of what society did to people
Acted friendly they made me disown my fuckin’ steeple
I was a pupil with dreams in my pupils—dreamy eyed
Till they pulled my hair & made me eat the fuckin’ flies
I wasn’t bad from birth—just maybe a cross reaction
The doctor was a virgin-spanked me for fuckin’ action
And I screamed—unleashing streams
“The babies fine” he classified my bloody earthly-being
Seeing strange images I finally fathomed
Wins only comes to those—with the guts to grab ’em
They stabbed them---let me burn my dreams alive
Wrote obituaries with crocodile tears in their eyes
Forgive me for this shit—it’s a prelude to my demise
Police:
"We have a 10-54d (possible dead body)
Correction..we have a 29" (Death)