I hate forcing myself to go to bed to avoid committing suicide.

to live asubstance-freelife under thepressures ofthe daily grindis state-sponsoredsuicide

When I was achild my worldwasn’t blackand white,it was grey,until I gotbeat upenough timesto realizemy skin wasbeige, anddifferent

AdiosHer pretty picturelying on theground was likethe topplingof somefascistregimeAnd burningthe photograph,was thecelebration

I’m breakingdownand I’vegot solittle timetodo it

I traded in myfreedom fora needy, whinyand defiantfour-year-old,a junky girlfriend,and a relationshipriddled withsomeone else’sproblemsNow, I stareout of openwindows likea wild mustangcraving openfieldsI clench mycrotch, wheremy ballsused to be,and I hum aloathsome tune,like an out-of-work castratowho’s realized his dreams of someday having his own familyare gone

But now that I’m scrubbingtoilets on my hands & knees,with four degrees,I realize that one escape routeleads to another

We should’ve thrown fucking riots the first time they had us ring up and bag our owngroceries

Some people are hard to forget, but some people are hard to remember.