Listen children,
Don't ever be me.
Like those motivational speakers who overcame applying liberal methamphetamine,
Or those speakers who robbed people at gunpoint, they come in to tell you what not to do?
Don't ever be me.

Why?
I'm horrible, that's why.

Why am I horrible?
Because I'm horrible.
Wait, no I'm not.
Yes I am.
No I'm not.
Yes I am.

Just, don't ever be me.

Sometimes I feel ready,

To surrender,
As if God, or mother nature, (or whatever you may / may not believe in, I'm terrified to offend)
Would just take me off this Earth,
And I'd be okay,
Knowing I've lived more pain than the fullest of lives, at "ripe"...18.

Sometimes I feel ready,

To surrender,
Like I'll forever be a servant, that I'll spend my days making everyone else happy,
That I'll never speak my mind again, because when I did, it didn't make people happy, and, and,
And I'd be okay,
Knowing people wouldn't hate me, that I wouldn't have this pain.

Sometimes.
Sometimes.
Sometimes.
Sometimes.
Sometimes.

Sorry, I lost my cool there for a second.

Sometimes I hope,
I hope someone comes by soon to save me, to see me as who I am, and to love me for me,
Because I just got crushed so badly by someone who told me they loved me for me,
That they always would,
Telling me they loved everything about me, the true me, who I am.

Sometimes I believe,
I believe the above is true, but the truth is, that nobody should die young,
Be it the kids getting high or the kids being beaten or
The kids whose minds withstood,
The types and masses of psychological cruelty usually only reserved for killers.

Sometimes I believe,
I am not a prisoner, that I am a free man, that I live in a free world, that I'm allowed to be me,
But then those beliefs quickly fall because I am not free
I am restricted, kept away,
From the only thing I ever wanted, the most amazing thing to happen in my life.

Sometimes I realize,
I'm not supposed to surrender, but I still want to surrender, the kind of surrender,
That makes those people smile in their last moments
That makes people happy to end their pain,
But I know certainly, suicide is weak, because the living hate on those who seek death, as if they know.

Sometimes the above stanza,
Is how I am when I'm weak, but I realize, I don't want to die, but I don't want to live,
It's such a crazy thing to not want to die or live
The feeling that you're wasting space for ever existing,
Like it would have been better for you and the world too if you'd just never been born to breathe the air.

Die or live
Die or live
Die or live
Die or live
Die or live

I repeated that for hours monotonously one night,
When I didn't want to die or live, because I really wanted to live, but I didn't want to live this,
But on the flip side, I really wanted to die, because I didn't want to live this,
But then I stopped, I stopped my crying,
My arms, hands, face so numb from hyperventilating.

I stopped, I mean stopped,
I stopped wanting to live, wanting to die, wanting to not die, wanting to not live, wanting to not not,
I got up to grab a glass of water to chase down the freak show I'd just watched and
As sipped my water, I stopped.
I stopped to stare,
At nothing in the dark,
And proceeded to cause new feelings.

Every night I wonder,
Why do I waste my time to write?
I sit and sit and sit before this computer screen and sometimes my pen,
And I write and write and write.

I wonder to myself,
Could she still love me, or has she changed?
I wonder and I wonder and I wonder until finally I tell myself it doesn't matter,
That I'm only writing to keep myself sane.

But what if she would listen?
I mean, could I read her all these things?
I would read and read and read until I've poured my heart out,
It would bring me such solace.

So here I'll pretend,
I'll pretend, that someday her and I,
We could sit down and talk about our feelings, not only a few,
To find the real truth.

Yes, I will pretend,
I'll pretend, that someday her and I,
We'll take turns in our one person poetry slams, with only one poet,
And a judge who doesn't judge.

So imagine for a second,

Imagine we're in the same room.
No, not the same room.
Identical rooms, but still the same room.
Rooms next to each other.
Right next to each other but we can't hear each other.

You designed these rooms.
You designed them for you, and the walls are black, there are no windows
Only one uncomfortable stool, light bulb hanging from the ceiling, a single cup of water
You designed these rooms so that you could get away,
You got away from the words you couldn't handle, both truths and lies, to be alone.
And you included the cup of water, because you've become a cactus starving for water and
You included the water because it will last you until you've grown.

I got my own little room too, the one next to you.
You built these rooms to grow,
But your walls move out, as you find who you are, and you forgot my cup of water and
And you're growing yourself, the right way this time and
But I'm still a human being and I still have feelings and I'm not a cactus yet and still starving for water
But my walls close in, and I have no water, and the light bulb is a crayon drawing and I trip on the stool
Because of the crayon drawing you thought would make me feel better but I can't even see it in the dark

So imagine for a second,
These rooms.

Falling apart is like falling in love
But without all the love.

Falling apart is like those times
Those times when you were a kid and scraped your knee,
But there's nobody around
Nobody to patch you up.

If falling apart is like falling in love
Then falling in love is like going whitewater rafting with your partner
But you've both got life jackets, and it's a Grade 2 River and it's safe and
You're having a great time.

If falling in love is like falling apart
Then falling apart is like going whitewater rafting with a stick for an oar
With no life jackets, in a Grade 6 River which is dangerous and almost suicidal and then
Your partner throws you off.

Sure, it's exciting
Homicide is exciting, in a twisted way, right?
But that doesn't mean it's a good thing
Because it's bad.

Sometimes exciting is bad
When exciting is lacking love.

I was laying last night,
Laying on my couch,
Cuddling with a blanket
That should have been you.

While I laid,
I watched the most amazing documentary,
About the almost perpetually vivid lives of Alaskan Sockeye Salmon
But it wasn't with you.

I found out,
The documentary is one of a series,
Suitably named, "Life On Fire:" as if they were created only to hold me by
When my life is on fire

--without you.

Serious
Everyone is too serious
Serious this, serious that,
I can't do this, I can't do that,

Stress
Everyone has stress,
Stress this, stress that,
I can't handle this, I can't handle that,

Peace
Nobody has peace,
No peace with this, no peace with that,
I can't get peace from this, I can't get peace with that...

Relax.