Small Arms Protective Insert

Call a therapist or write your suicide note

Either way you’re going to have to decide

To live or to die, because I don’t feel like I’m living

Or will be much longer

If I keep sitting and spinning in the dirty corners of my room

Cobweb brain breaking free for the first time in a while

Still feel like I’m walking in the dark next to a chasm

Butterflies and needles in my stomach, Nicorette until my jaw aches

Remembering the white bag my mother left in

Carrying it to the van with the man who would take her to the crematory

I kept believing this was not the end of her story, helping her die was my personalized purgatory

Haven’t been in the ward for a while, being sane seems to be in style

Still it’s all trial and error, a dare, true comedy is attempting to defining what is fair

Equal and just is covered in rust, so don’t make a fuss about freedom

Should’ve tossed myself drunk off the back of that ship, worn my SAPIs to sink

Released from this mental toil, forget being buried in soil 



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