What a fucked up life,
what a tragic way to die,
bloody knife in shaking hand,
colored pills littering my floor.
What a fucked up way to live,
slit wrists and glazed eyes,
mental counts of prescription dose.
You can't stay awake,
but your panicky eyes won't close.
What a fucked up world,
dead babies, dead mommies and daddies.
obituaries litter my floor,
every fucking person i lost.
Where's my fucking knife,
where are those goddamn pills?
I need my release,
my control.
I need to feel alive,
someone bring me to life.
Ann Thrope
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fucked-up/
