Kid, tell me what happened: The Sequel

Am I waiting to break?

Help me, it feels like the walls are caving in 

Peter's eyes fluttered shut as he tightly gripped the glass bottle and pressed it against his dry, cracked lips. 

Sometimes I feel like giving up, 

Tears leak out of the aching teenager's eyes as he gulped the bottle's containments. A burning sensation slithered down his throat, and Peter feels his mind loosen, and venture into the dark thoughts. 

But I just can't 

A thought unraveled in Peter's complicated mind. Put the bottle down. But it's making the pain go away, and Peter's tired of the pain. He's tired of hurting every hour, every minute, otherwise, the thin red jagged lines on his arms would be non-existent. 

It isn't in my blood 

Peter can't do it. Every day Peter woke up in pain, and went to sleep in pain. Ever since May died, everything became lifeless. Empty. An unbearable void of just pain. And it sucks. 

He tells himself every single day why he's not dead, why May is the one that's buried in a casket six feet under. It should be him. 

If he wasn't so damn reckless as Spiderman and did something more, anything more, maybe his aunt would still be alive. 

Laying on the bathroom floor, feeling nothing 

And Peter wouldn't be sitting against a cold wall with red-rimmed eyes that took the focus away from his shaking hands living from paycheck to paycheck. 

He had to drop out of high school and get a job otherwise his landlord would've kicked him out of the apartment complex that he resides in. 

And the only industry in all of New York was the very facility who was owned with the iconic JJ Jameson who hated his alter-ego's guts with his fiber being. What he ever did to the man is beyond Peter's understanding. 

But this was the harsh truth of life that Peter wished that he was never exposed to. 

I'm overwhelmed and insecure, give me something 

Peter sucked in a jaggy breath, and an estranged cry slipped out of his quivering pink lips. He fumbled with a broken piece of glass that he just realized had chipped off the bottle of vodka that he was drowning in. 

Along with the pain, his anxiety was at a permanent all-time high. Every day, Peter felt himself combusting from the wrecking mess that he was. 

Probably why the broken teenager was hunched over his sobbing, bleeding self as be contemplated if he was going to get kicked out of his apartment. 

I could take to ease my mind slowly 

In the beginning, Spiderman was his refuge from the overwhelming disaster that he was. Focusing on anything but his problems took him away from his. That sweet, sweet exhilaration that was influenced by coursing adrenaline in his radioactive veins as doing good was the only thought in his mind was all Peter needed for some sanity. Eventually, being Spiderman wasn't enough, he couldn't not think about his problems, and that began to have consequences on him as a hero. And eventually, the only thing that Peter lived for became nothing but another chore. 

Just take a drink and you'll feel better 

And one day, Peter got low. He missed his alarm, got yelled at by his boss not once, twice, but ten times, plus a threaten to be fired, missed his bus where a car skidded past him and sprayed an overly large puddle on him. To add salt to the wound, he got mugged, and Peter couldn't help the tears from slipping as he raced through the rain through mopey, disheveled curls of hair.