Blood

Blood

You’re told throughout your life that God has a plan and purpose for you.
The assholes that share that hopeful news with you don’t have a fucking clue
what kind of damage a life full of defeats, miserable failures and darkness does to your heart and soul.
It makes you question who’s really in fucking control.
It makes you wonder if you will ever begin to feel whole.
Maybe I’m better off leaving everything behind, leaving you behind with a bird’s eye view of my fucked-up brain through a bullet hole.

Darkness has descended on my vision of the future I have for myself.
I’m frustrated to the point it’s beginning to overwhelm.
What’s God’s plan for me?  Goddamn I ask myself that question daily!
I’m feeling lost and confused lately.
The ground I’m attempting to remain standing on is shaky.
I think I know who I am as a person, but only vaguely.
I know I’m a hard worker, not one to be lazy.
I prefer my women dressed in clothing that’s racy,
but done with a side of tasty.
However, I’ve never been popular with the ladies.
Being weird and completely crazy pushes them away and doesn’t bring them in the have my babies.

Who I am as a person is locked away inside of me under a tremendous weight.
Being a shell of myself and unconfident makes the ladies question whether I’m gay or straight.
Stress and anxiety is one of my more unappealing traits.  
Darkness clouds the visions I have of my ultimate fate.
Inside myself, know I’m destined to do something great.
I’ve known this since I was eight,
but my potential is locked away and being wasted.
Dead end job after dead end job, success is something I’ve never tasted.
In a world full of talented men and women, I feel faceless.
Just who the fuck I am and what I’m meant for is an answer I search for but often find complicated.
It fuels the darkness inside of me and leaves me feeling frustrated.
Being in a room alone with my thoughts leaves me feeling devastated.
Am I even great any anything?  Well that can be debated.
Talented at writing?  Maybe, but people often find my art tasteless.
God, if you are out there, I’m tired of being tested.
I’m tired of only feeling alive when I’m intoxicated.

When will it be my turn to find peace and solitude?
When will my inner turmoil finally conclude?
When will I finally accomplish something that makes my life a success?
When will my soul stop feeling so distressed?
When will I finally attain a career I love and escape my series of dead end jobs?
When will I learn to fit in with society and stop feeling so odd?
When will I live up to my grandpa’s legacy and make him proud?
Or are none of these requests allowed?

Will I continue to struggle through life and find it difficult to just breath every day?
Will you ever hear my cries and provide me with answers to the questions in which I pray?
Or is there no hope for me to truly ever be happy?
Every day in order to just survive I have to get crafty
Unless I would become a victim of the night
and I’m already a sorrowful sight.
Imagine me dead, my blood spilled all over, would it bring you delight?
How would you react to my rotting, dead body coming across your eyesight?

Maybe we should find out.
My future is unclear and once again in doubt.
The time might be right.
The time might be now,
for me to fill the bathtub up with warm water,
only to dispose of the water and fill the tub up again since I like my water hotter.
I strip down and climb into the tub naked.
Don’t try to talk me out of this, I can’t be persuaded.
I take out a razor blade and slit my wrists shaking
since I’m nervous about this despite being motivated.
Blood begins pouring out of my arms as I place them into the water.
I apologize for being a failure, especially to my parents and daughter.

I take my arm out of the water and take a drink of my blood,
then place my arm on a blank piece of paper and begin to write.
The words you are reading now is my blood poured out and splattered on white paper for you.
If you care about my wellbeing, this is your cue.
I’ve written three books from my soul, this one is from my blood.
Read on as I pour it all out for you in a massive flood.
Is my blood poison that will corrupt you with its words?
Or words of wisdom and strength that will have you singing alone with the birds?
Welcome to my blood show, I hope you enjoy your stay.
After I die, feel free to caste my ashes out into the nearest bay.