These problems got me beat.
I’m standing, yet so weak.
I been drinking all night,
reminiscing of pops telling me:
"Don’t you give-up boy. You better fight".
No job. My wife divorcing me.
And if you could only see
How my son looks at me.
No, I don’t blame them.
No, there’s no society blaming here.
I played the cards I was dealt.
Whether I played them right or wrong,
Who knows. In the end, I had to fold.
No, don’t feel sorry for me; nor sit there judging me. There’s no get up chants of— You’re gonna make it through this.
And indeed, I must decline. For I have no use for your advice on the many things that can help me to cope.
Since what you’re reading now, is the suicide note.
