I'll Be Fine (pt. 2 of 2)

interpretations fallen from grace

i wonder what the sight
of their dead "son" would bring
just as they say archeologists
would misidentify any trans persons remains
they'd find me
in a pool of my blood, or strung up by my neck
"he was such..." "he had so much..."
"i remember his attitude..." "his goofy smile..."
what good does it fucking matter
devoting a third of my life to finding myself
when all they'll see is a failed experiment
a brain broken beyond repair
no matter how hard i try, they don't see it
the changes ive made
in my mind, my act, my ability
and i just wonder why
they'd find me
in a pool of my blood, or strung up by my neck
they would find me selfish for doing so
with every passing second
my flesh decays
the flies lay their eggs
blood drying
looking like some shitty modern artwork
spattered about without rhyme or reason
and they'd still criticize me in such a nothing state
find a way to still attack me and my actions
"too bad all i have to remember him by
is how rude he was yesterday"
"god, i can't believe he did this after arguing with me"
and even so
they'd find me
in a pool of my blood, or strung up by my neck
or any other way i can find to off my mortal mind
its fascinating
the way your mind
can take the end
and deal with it so casually
and even plot against yourself
as if you yourself don't know any better
it dreams up any way it can
to end the dreams it provides
or maybe to give you a forever dream
who knows what happens after you kill yourself
personally, i hate myself
not for the way i look
or for the my transness
but instead the lack of any conviction
to just go through with it all
atleast they would know if i got the will to
they'd find me
in a pool of my blood, or strung up by my neck
of all the modes to go
some kicking and fighting as you let go
others being instant
but to slowly fade out of existance
is how i want to go
i want to feel my blood flow
down my neck
down my wrists
down my forearms
pumping
throbbing
flowing uselessly
as it all gets wasted
(not that it wasn't already wasted on me)
my vision getting blurry
feeling my heart start to race
my body losing feeling
nerves failing
like one big great blanket
befalling all of my senses
as the knife i once used
to cut string for my dad at matches
to cut cardboard for projects
now repurposed for something
much more important
and when it slowly fades to black
they'd find me
in a pool of my blood, or strung up by my neck
and theyd laugh
the tears theyd have
would be short
or at the very least
tears of joy
and they'd fucking revel
over the sight of me
in a pool of my blood, or strung up by my neck.