Second Poem

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One way to communicate

We live untill the day we get the fucking thought in our mind. It stays for years upon years. The pressure we start to feel. And we are horrible humans. We are the society of horrible humans. We think the most aggressive things. And we fight. The littlest things set us off. And we make more enemies than friends. We don't even know what that word means anymore.

We are horrible humans.

We don't fight or stand up for anyone. Not even ourselves. We don't know what love is. We only know what pain feels. And the ways to escape it.

We smoke till we don't feel anything.

We drink so we'll forget.

We pop pills to dose out the misery of our empty souls.

And the the worst thing we do is cut ourselves.

We fish into our mothers drawer looking for the prescription to set our date just like the date is marked on the tablets in the medicine cabinet. We down the whole thing and when it's done it's done.

Our parents find us on the bathroom floor with a empty orange bottle next to us.

Our face pale.

A hardly readable pulse.

The emts try to revive us and by the time we make it to the hospital it either death at the time we were set for or our stomachs are pumped and we're out on a medical endused coma for days upon weeks so our bodies will fight.

But not all of us make it out. There was no fight left in us. So we don't try.

That's the horrible thing we humans do.

We quit.

To the ones who take the razor blades out of razors to shave with. Or the kitchen knife to harvest our meats and vegetables with. But instead we use the technique of harvest our thin skin. For one to find us in a pool bath full of the blood that use to lather us inside of our well thought out body.

God has a funny way of communicating with us.

The signs he gives. Sometimes we feel death near. And other times it takes the life out of us.

And I'll never know why he made me die. Die throughout this life that is so pure and light. The rays that castcade down from the only heaven above.

But I'll never know why depression took me over. I have my hypothesis but I always blamed it on school cause it was easier to say that than to say my home life or the people I love-ed.

Or the people who love-ed me.

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