Some Of My Darker Works.
A volume in my journal.


I'm fucking tired of this shit.

I'm tired of cleaning up after dirty ass
children, doing dishes 5 times a day.
I'm tired of fighting with the same people
over the same shit.
I'm tired of the school I go to with the
same tired ass hoes dying over the same
wack ass niggas. I'm tired of the same weak
ass teachers bitching over the same
worksheets they assigned forty years ago.

I'm fucking tired of thinking about you,
and being so dissapointed the way you
fall in love with someone and
they just leave you as empty and cold as
they found you the first time.
He says he loves you, you believe it.
You finally say you love him, he flips me
the middle.

I was always fucked up.
It just comes out better when I write my
feelings down.

Every fucking day I deal with the same shit.
The sky is still blue, never a different color.
I'm still black.
My mother is still crazy.
I'm still poor, I still don't have a car.
I still draw pictures on my desk in class.
I still giggle to myself recalling the same
sick ass memories I had with you.
Demons dancing in my mind.

I eat dinner at a quick speed.
Becaue my mother sits my plate next to hers.
I devour my food and leave.
"Why are you eating like that?"
I lie,"Because I'm hungry."
This house digusts me.

I think about commiting suicide sometimes.
Going to my moms truck in her glove box
finding a can of paint and writing my last
words in white paint.
Sit on the cold pavement.
BANG.