Oct 2014
The first time it happened, I was 12. Small hint of desperation reeked from the mouth of tainted white lies. The hushed voices of angels welcoming God to this play. Slick grey stains written on the pavement tracing a skyline littered with empty hate no one was to blame for. He went for the face and yelled, “You lying, cheating, *****!” The sting vibrated and her voice yelled words falling from a pistol. The sad facade of sanity slipped away and the forbidden fruit fell. When “enough” was reaching its limits he delivered the last blow, sent the teary face belonging to mum across the stripped walls. The rag doll silhouette fell and all I heard was the thunder hit the ground, it started raining and my tears crumbled the grey skyline.
The second time it happened I was 15. My brother, he died. Sick ******* didn't even try to say goodbye, left with the last blink and never opened his eyes. Unfortunately, there weren't enough pills labeled, “Stress Relief when Your Mum is Killed by Loving Daddy,” to relieve the malignant pain. The little clouds in his head got heavy with acid rain; it was time for the powder white, sugar rush, ******* to eat away his mind. Drugs or “drugs” either way too much of an overdose; all misguided directions when he was birthed. Each pill wasn't closer to hell he told me. He was floating on his own cloud to catch God and ask his passage to hell to see if it was better than his current “paradise.” My father didn't care, his principle method, supply and demand. More pills, more bills. I prayed everyday to this God, one day the father would breathe one last breath of oxygen and stop the pollution. However, the coin flipped and it was my brother who left me with empty pill bottles.
The third time. There was no third time. I didn't stomach this feeling well, like having a gallon of water on an empty stomach. This feeling, I don’t know, I don’t know what to call it. I put the bullet to his head trigger set. We breathe the same air of memories, drink my mother’s homemade bottle of liquor each sip bitter than the first. My brother’s medications hit our noses; a dose of reality doesn't mix well with sanity. The little pistol in my hand, the pistol I earned, I can taste and feel the drizzle on the pavement the smell of metal and rain thickens the fog in my head. I close my eyes, shoot.
Silence.
I see the thick crimson, blood molested by the devils, he is put to bed.
This is when I find my sanity.
The second time it happened I was 15. My brother, he died. Sick ******* didn't even try to say goodbye, left with the last blink and never opened his eyes. Unfortunately, there weren't enough pills labeled, “Stress Relief when Your Mum is Killed by Loving Daddy,” to relieve the malignant pain. The little clouds in his head got heavy with acid rain; it was time for the powder white, sugar rush, ******* to eat away his mind. Drugs or “drugs” either way too much of an overdose; all misguided directions when he was birthed. Each pill wasn't closer to hell he told me. He was floating on his own cloud to catch God and ask his passage to hell to see if it was better than his current “paradise.” My father didn't care, his principle method, supply and demand. More pills, more bills. I prayed everyday to this God, one day the father would breathe one last breath of oxygen and stop the pollution. However, the coin flipped and it was my brother who left me with empty pill bottles.
The third time. There was no third time. I didn't stomach this feeling well, like having a gallon of water on an empty stomach. This feeling, I don’t know, I don’t know what to call it. I put the bullet to his head trigger set. We breathe the same air of memories, drink my mother’s homemade bottle of liquor each sip bitter than the first. My brother’s medications hit our noses; a dose of reality doesn't mix well with sanity. The little pistol in my hand, the pistol I earned, I can taste and feel the drizzle on the pavement the smell of metal and rain thickens the fog in my head. I close my eyes, shoot.
Silence.
I see the thick crimson, blood molested by the devils, he is put to bed.
This is when I find my sanity.
