June ninth two thousand nine...

June ninth... my mother's anniversary to my abusive coke-head step-father
Wonderful. Congratulations --- you fucked up my life.

An awful day of dodging bullets and hoping you don't die with him
Good God(!) I wish I could see you. I wish your stroke didn't put the controller in his hand.
I miss my brothers. I miss the smell of Nana's room and your sarcastic humor.

June ninth turned out to be a rather awful day.
A bullet caught me and struck me stupid while riding in the car.
A $200 jacket and $100 skate shoes when we haven't any money?
We've taken so much work off to make attempts to see my dying mother!

I was pushed off the cliff of already distant hopes of sanity and the calm I clung to.
And we fight about drugs. And we fight about your lack of care with my heart.
And you said it best, "I really don't know."
You really don't know if I am more important than your drugs?
Four years wasted... I am so ashamed.

And I did not need medication or the help of liquor to come to my conclusion.
Everything seemed so clear. I am older, haven't much to offer...
and I'm lost with sorrow - hand in hand
My world was spinning so quickly and I was crying something horrid...into my hands
Pulling at my skin and feeling so uncomfortable inside it.

And finally I gave in to my greatest temptation.
I found the darkest corner of the darkest room and just curled up...
Hard wood floors and street lights as my only company while you sat at the computer -I could hardly hear you breathing.
In those shadows the closest chord was wrapped around my neck.
Tighter and tighter until my arms weakened and I am not so sure what followed.
All I remember was waking up wet from spit so I must not have been conscience.
And I felt your hands lift my head... unwrapping the strangulation...
And if I thought clearer, and if I wrapped twice... the chord would have never loosened.
And if I tried harder, and I wrapped it three times...... there'd be nothing left to mention.