A Driven Suicide

February 16, 2011
To my parents,
I wish I would’ve told you in better terms,
Not like this.
you could’ve been told a different way.
It’s wasn’t my choice.
To my friends,
You all knew, you tried to help,
But nothing could be done
We already knew that.
It wasn’t my choice.
To you,
I’m Sorry.
Sorry that I was born a certain way.
Sorry that I am not “normal”
You showed me the life I live now.
It wasn’t my choice.
I’m really no different, maybe…
Just a little.
I’m tortured for this?
Learning to accept myself.
What was that, the word you can’t say?
You spit at me the one word,
to put me over the edge,
And I brace for impact.
Letting the profanity sink in,
I slowly tie my noose,
While another prepares the last bullet he will ever shoot.

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