I am afflicted. My father killed himself 7/1/10 and i have not yet recovered. I know i never will. My poems come from my heart. I refuse to write without inspiration.
The boy sits in his big house and feels crushed
He holds his girlfriend but his heart is still mush
The pop of the pistol
It rings out louder than cymbols
...
Nights are always the worst
The ghosts come up the street in their herse
They come for your sanity
And stay for your suffering
...
The thought makes me sick
The sound of the click
Comes out of the dark
Like a hunting shark
...
Come and take me
Give me the key
So i can change my destiny
This pain is too much
...