Metaphorical Pen

I think its about that time.

Its safe to grab the pistol.

Im tired of growing, everyday its more stressful.

I hate money.

I hate school.

I think this day can be stamped official.

Im tired of feeling bitter and

Im tired of being stressed.

Im just tired of breathing, it takes all my energy.

Especially when im breathing for dozens of people, and most of them kin to me.

This poem is about me.

For once I just want to lay in the dark.

Stare at the ceiling music blasting till I’ve gone deaf.

I don’t want to hear the bullshit anymore.

All I hear is death.

 I’ll reach under my bed.

Favorite teddy bear pressed against my chest.

And finally put these hands to use.


I’ll write my name in the liquid.

Shit I dont know how, but I’ll attempt to swim in it.

This is the day to embrace the first time I felt Free

Then everybody had to go an ruin it.

So I’ll leave it up to you to decided if the pistol is just a metaphor for my pen.


When dreams become reality
When dreams become reality

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