Lifted. Flying. Soaring. Falling. Crashing. How you feel on this temporary high. How he felt whenever he wanted a good time. Needing to erase the pain he swallowed his pride with some pills and a liver killer. What a way to fool the mind, getting it twisted getting it off track. His only satisfaction? That he would be numb to life for a few hours.
He was only 17 and trying to live. He was only 17 and trying to have fun. He was only 17 he died so young. His mother found him in his room. Rope around his neck, and a letter on his bed that read, “Mom, I just can’t take it anymore. I just didn’t want to live with this pain. I couldn’t get rid of it. Don’t cry; I’ll see you one day again. I love you and I’m sorry.” She dropped to her knees praying it wasn’t true. Hoping this was all a bad dream; but even the worst dreams come true.
