I haven't written in a week.
I suppose I'm tired.
I have no choice but to suppose,
if not, I'd have to admit
that there might be something very wrong
Going on here.

I hate my mother.
Unfortunately, the feeling,
It doesn't seem very mutual,
and what a shame.
Things are much harder that way.
She's worried about me
for what?. I'm yet
to discover. 

I've always been a bit
Rebellious.
There is no greater urge to stand
your ground when all else
craves the brush of your cold hands
against the wooden coffin
Six feet under.
When all else wants to bury you
beneath them.
Resist.
The choice is mine alone.

I might be thinking of ending things