Poem

What the fuck did Jesus ever do for us?
Wars wars wars, that's all I see.

When it comes to the crunch,
I think I'd do the same.
I mean, if you are the son of GOD,
Wouldn't you want to dabble into the depths of darkness?

What am I deep down inside?

Stalker.
Criminal.
Freak.
Blind.
Dead.

Apathy.

Fuck what you say, Brandon, because when I smile,
I just don't mean it.

No matter what I say, it's still all just words,
sprawled
across
the
page.

So, in summary,
This flesh, these bones, just don't seem right.
None of it matters.










So why is suicide so hard?