murder mystery

twenty five

plus

eighteen equals

how many times i murdered myself

tonight b4 writing

this stupid poem

for u to steal.

i remember writing hard things

on toilet paper

while smashing my head

against a bathroom stall wall

five days ago.

graffiti dreams

and rape screams...

nobody heard me crying,

but i begged for

more.

i think i hate myself

more than people who clog

the road

on my way to work-

more than people who jog

too close to

white paint lines.

i want to die

inside a bottle of vodka

while reading Ginsberg

and puking my guts out

to all the gay shit

this world has become.