I wanted to give you a sneak preview of a new piece I'm working on. It's a group poem about teen suicide. I'm doing it with 2 friends of mine. It's a very cool lay-out. We each do a verse on the general topic, then we each do a verse in charecter. We each act as a different person that kills themselves in different ways for different reasons. I have my verses done, so I thought you may want to read them. My charecter is the scorned lover and I take a pistol to the temple. (Missy is one of the 2 other people doing it w/ me)
All: First they came for the teens, and I said nothing
The media encourages the slit wrists of masochist children
How can we compare to perfection?
If we can't afford Maybalene or Sean Jean,
how can we live with ourselves?
Precious heartbeats are snuffed out
Cuz a razor only cries for attention, not salvation
But we dont heal like you do
Depression isnt cured by Family-Game-Night
or superficial dinner conversation
No, we cannot be healed when we spend our days
choking back vomit
that tastes like broken promises and humiliation
We are shackled to the anguish,
and married to our weapons of choice
Married? According to the divorce rates and the latest death toll,
Suicide is the real commitment.
But I refuse to die to your soundtrack of reassuring talk
and My Chemical Romance ballads
I've seen the dark side of the moon as it rises from the South
and I believed every lie that spilled like smoke from her mouth
and everyone says to stay positive
But what can I do when the caged bird's voice has gone hoarse
from crying over sloppily written suicide notes?
How can I continue when a cocktail of Xannex and Morphine
can't even dull the pain?
These are her wounds.
This is my solution.
I was her King, but now my steps have faltered
and I find beauty only in our Mortal Facade
So she is hideous, like me
and every clear-carved line in her face has been twisted by betrayal
and every distortion strengthens my conviction
She said she loved me
but like everything else that's beautiful, she meant nothing
Her body was just a cloak that covered frenzied lies that stung like wasps
and I was hypnotized by the art of her
She delivered me defeat, but refused to spare me the knowledge of Victory
Does she see the damage she's done?
I sit here alone
it's just me and this gun
So now torn ligaments struggle to squeeze the trigger
I wonder who will clean up the blood