OPEN BOOK  (Melancholia With a Side of Anxiety: The Breakfast of Champions)

i've always just pulled it out of bed
no matter how dark it got
and dragged it through the day
regardless of how beat down
and miserable i was
because that's what i was taught a man does
 
it's as though being broken inside
is some sort of sin against  
the gods of masculinity --
a sign of unforgivable weakness --
because a man doesn't whine or coddle himself
but carries his own weight and walks the pain off
and does what he's got to do
 
and that, my friend, is that
 
and so some of us self medicate with alcohol or some illegal shit  
and some of us blow our stupid fucking brains out
or self destruct in less violent ways
but many of us trudge on with our guilt
and that hole eating away on the inside
because it's all just part of who we are
 
and god forbid we mention suicide  
because they'll lock you up for that shit
so that you might "talk it through"
and how the fuck does one pay his bills
when he's sitting in a goddamn circle of other morons  "talking it through?"
and besides, that shit will follow you the rest of your fucked up life
and could cost a man his job
so a man may think about suicide every day
until it's just another fantasy of escape like any other
as long as he keeps it to himself
 
and on the good days a man can ignore the mess he's likely made of things
and on the bad days he just functions as best he can
and carries whatever fucking load he's heaped upon himself
in an effort to feel better
because by then he probably recognizes
there is no "better"
 
there's just what is
 
and that, my friend, is that