[Trigger Warning]
My phone died on the bus today.
When I needed it most it died.
When you needed me most I died.
My phone died on the bus today.
My phone died on the bus.
I died on the bus.
My bus combines students grades 6-12.
You can imagine how unpleasant that would be.
I can usually always drown out the idiots with music.
I like music, it's a good distraction.
It's good for me.
Or bad.
I can't tell.
It makes me think.
Which could be both.
But my phone died on the bus today.
So I had to listen.
There are students on my bus that I hate.
Not hate, more like fear.
Not because they're scary.
But because they are foolish.
The loud ones.
The ones that scream and curse and don't care about other people.
As long as they have their fun.
And their fun is joking about death.
About suicide.
About cutting.
About popping veins in the bathroom.
It's funny, you know?
No one ever told me it was, but if you ever hear a joke about death, then laugh.
Apparently that's comedy.
I must be out of touch, not knowing that suicide was a joke.
Just a joke.
As if it makes you special.
Or maybe gives you more attention.
Talking about death.
Laughing about death.
So if you ever hear about it, laugh.
Because that's what it is, right?
That's what it is.
They were talking.
They were talking about popping veins.
Taking meds.
Taking drugs.
Bragging about how messed up they are.
Yeah.
They are messed up.
If this is our civilization, then we're all messed up.
To brag about that.
Making games on who is more hurt than the other.
On whose scars run deeper.
On whose parents are worse.
They're lying.
A lot of people lie.
Or exaggerate.
Either one.
It's hard to find out who's really in pain.
But my phone died on the bus today.
And the voices replaced the music.
Their voices.
My voices.
The same voices.
Fighting over suicide.
Joking about it.
Taunting me.
Could I do it?
I don't know.
The voices know.
Sometimes I ask them.
They tell me I can.
All I have to do is listen, then I can.
But I can't believe them.
I can't believe anyone.
I can't breathe.
I can't stop.
I can only listen.
I can only listen to the voices of the kids screaming.
I can only listen to my voices.
Bringing back memories.
Bringing back memories of the future.
My phone died on the bus today.
I died on the bus today.
YOU ARE READING
Sometimes I Write Poems, Sometimes I Write Songs
RastgeleA collection of everything I've written to be posted on theprose.com. Between short stories and poetry, I think too much.
