It's a beautiful day
I've been wasting away.
Sitting in silence,
All thoughts are astray.
I think to myself of the time I have lost.
I think of great things and how much they will cost.
And how can it be the body can't afford?
The things that my soul will try to adore.
It's all time and money. These things I don't have.
When I'm dead and rotting I'm sure I'll be glad.
When space-time is time-space and nothing exists.
Even though it's all there and my thoughts will persist.
Then I won't worry of the waste I've become.
There won't be emotion inside the ashram.

I stood in the sun
and thought of you
and of my junebug heart.
It clings on, unshakable,
even after it’s death.

And you like that about me,
my junebug heart that is.
You think you have one too.
I know that you don’t.
Yours is fleeting.

Sometimes I ******* hate you.

The feeling lasts longer and longer each time you snap.

I’m bigger, stronger than you now, but I still can’t stop you.

After all, you are the monster under my bed. The claw round the door, the matted fur and blood in the sink.

You are the bad man.

And that is how it will always be.

You are illogical, unreasonable. You defy rules you impose unto others.

I’ve endured a lifetime of this abuse, And you don’t even apologise the next day anymore.

Because you’ve found a hook, something to blame for your fuckups.

That hook is me.

And so, as you spit in my face, with beer in your blood, you are blameless in your mind.

Hate pushes the shame away.

It just saddens me that I’ve done nothing but forgive you all this time, and all you can do is hate me.

I slit my wrist on my writing hand,
And the letters all poured out.
They spread across the page
Until no white is left.
Now what's that all about?

The letters poured and poured
And, I was almost dead.
I looked down upon my page
Content that it was read.

These people-
******* teens-
Can get the ****
Away from me.
Gossip and hormones,
STD's,
These kids
Will be the death of me.
They laugh at the weak
And worship the rich.
They don't have a job,
But they get what they wish.
Designer purses, and wallets and shoes.
Buckle jeans, skinny and lean,
'Cause they can afford healthy foods.
"My car has a scratch, daddy.
Buy a new one."
While I'm 17 years old,
Working a part time job,
Walking to school.
With pants 3 sizes to big,
Because I can't afford food,
So I don't eat at all.
I have bills to help pay,
Because my parents are broke.
And the only fun I get,
Is when I can smoke,
And when I get pills,
And when I can work.
I hate this ****,
It's so annoying,
Explaining why my mommy,
Can't afford me a ride..
Can't afford me a home,
Or a haircut,
Or glasses.
I walk home from school blind,
But I can't see their *****,
Driving by.
With all the expensive luxuries..