Social Media Suicide

Social media suicide. It doesnt matter how or why because it feels like my entire life
Is being crushed in a vice. When I disappear would anyone even care. Not even my family, friends or wife could help me find the meaning of life because life feels like it's lifeless. I'm helpless. Sleeping on the floor at night. Trying to hide from the ghosts. Not the ones under my bed. It's the ones that inundate my head. This is why I wish I was dead. I just did a Gronkowski on my phone and all my pics and videos are gone and I ain't ever gonna get them back. Kind of like my life when I jump from platform to track. I wish I could switch a light on in my soul but iam overwhelmed like a rabbit in his hole. At least I no longer have the means to obsess over bikes, new jobs and all my dark secrets.

How would I go when its time? Maybe from a knot in a line or maybe I'd go for a swim to the bottom of the sea and back up again. I bet if I was splattered on my bike the insurance company would be like, "He did it on purpose to have his house paid off".
All the gossip spreads across work.
It wouldn't matter to all those useless cunts who thought I was a jerk. Just because I told them off. That's just the way it is. Tupac, Biggie and Eminem. It's just as real only there's more truth to my deal. I ain't ever getting healed until a lighting bolt strikes me down, this vice lightens up or I discover that Santa Claus or Jesus is real.


We live our lives day by day. Pay our bills and throw our trash away. Wash our faces in the mirror as we age and grey. Watch our children laugh, dance and play. Then one day it's gone.


I'd read the news online before I spiked my phone. People dying everyday. I use to think damn that must suck until I became depressed our whatever you call this funk. Now in some sick way I envy them like the winner of the euro millions or the powerball. Why can't I buy a ticket and go to sleep one night. Have a massive heart attack and put an end to this fight. Because that's what it feels like. Life. A helpless fight. I want to give up but I see them sparkles and glowing light engulfing my daughter and I don't want to pass this disease on to her and my son is only eight months old. No matter how fucked up iam I don't want them to be alone because I love them and it's the only thing that keeps me alive.

Sometimes social media suicide makes me realise how real it is. But I can't always rise again when I feel just a little more elated and kill myself again when I'm deflated because my medication hasn't kicked in. Maybe I'm bipolar and need some more or maybe its the medicine making me feel this way so those cock sucking queers in phizer can make a billion more dollars or maybe it's my cousin's fault because he stole all my friends in high school and wouldn't answer the phone and then I'd call back and my Aunt Terry would be like, "he's not home you little shit and if he was he wouldn't want to talk to you because your little willy is just really really small and Wayne and Chris are upstairs sucking his cock and licking his balls. But Uncle Mark is home if you want to talk to him. I'm sure he'd love to rape you you little bitch. But you're gonna have to wait until I get home from bingo and make some banana bread Brian. Then I'll let you eat my pussy. Just don't tell your mother that Malinda just took another load of laundry from her brother's genealogy". Looks like I opened another can of worms and no one's gonna eat them but me. So i just shot the partridge in the Petrie.

So this I it. This is what I get from letting my guard down and my defense mechanisms collapse because I looked at porno mags at the Spaghetti Bowl. How did I ever know that my cousin would ever take them home. It turned into some crazy shit all to make him happy because I thought that he was superman. In a million years I never would have thought I would have been his victim. Now I'm here wishing I could end a life that's filled with prosperity and goodness. Because I got the fuck out of Rumford, excelled in the Navy, met my wife, had two babies, went back to college to earn two Bachelors and a Master's degree, ran seven marathons and an Ironman.

I guess I'm the marval comic super hero and Matthew is just an evil villian that belongs in a pile at the dump, rotten in a boot with Trump and getting is ASS fucked by Cardinal Law out in Boston. Because I lived in Winter Hill and now the sun is shinning to the south. All I've got to do is keep the cold out of my head and focus on what counts. My babies, my wife and my friends whether I ever see them again or not. Because I can't disguise my success with lies anymore and no more sleeping on the rocks at the bottom. I know it's time that I climb back to the top of my mountain, look up into the sky with pride and reach into my soul and change into the man that I know I am. Fuck. Now I need a new phone. Cocoa Butter bitches. It's WWIII.