Month 9
Dear you,
Yeah, you!
The not hot mess in the broken fucking mirror...
every year,
you show up here,
causing ruckus;
causing anguish
I hate you every year,
when you show the fuck up here,
with 900 pounds of luggage
You make me fucking cry
You make me fucking sick
You make me fucking fight
Which is exactly why I’m done...
I must leave...
and I’m gone as of tonight
I’m exhausted and I’m drained
You’ve sucked,
you’ve soaked,
sopped up...
all little remaining blood in my veins,
dry,
dehydrated,
depleted...
All gone
I’m going to be strong
I’m going to end it all
Failure, nevermore
Can’t do it anymore
Many times much before this,
many times of much fail
But fuck me!
Fuck you!
This ship must fucking sail
Balls, I have never lacked,
and if you must,
please,
be a hack
reference all prior records...
they only tend to glamourize
the hideous straight fact
It won’t be my first;
sorry so sleazy
But this time;
definitely fun...
bloody...
and easy
Funny, the irony...
oh, how each time...
every time...
makes it just a little more ok
Yes, ironic...
yet ill...
yet sick
yet psychotic
I kinda promise to keep it clean,
I guess...
grrr, always a downer;
rules,
promises,
blah, fucking, blah...
and I’m the loser?
But wait;
that’s right...
I really don’t care
My heart,
it’s pitch black
My soul,
it’s ice cold
I’ll be gone,
so...
why would I care?
But someday,
when you’re over me and old...
and our home has long been sold...
don’t forget about that tiny little crack...
that annoying smudge in the tile that would cause your new cleaning lady to pout...
the one you thought was just a stain in the grout...
it’s really just mold...
from where my blood spilled over...
cold
But the beauty of it all,
one that may leave you head scratching hazy,
and surely not because I’m lazy...
but because it’s you, you’re the one
that’s MOTHERFUCKING crazy...
and it’s me...
the one BEYOND this...
for once
Done being your hit and misstress
Oh, you didn’t think I’d grow?
That I’d ever be able to say goodbye so easily?
Fuck you, Poison!
31 years is hardly measly
But slip on my Chucks for once...
they’re a size fucking 9
Oh, that’s right,
you can’t,
because the only feet they comfort,
are not mine...
they’re MINE
So everything I just said,
oh,
no worries,
it’s all true...
because when they find me very much alive tonight...
and the context of the content in which I’m about to write...
bloody as mentioned,
fucking bloody it shall be,
and an admittance to a murder,
and a murderer I shall be
However, lucky for me...
I’m much too bright,
and not much a martyr
It will clearly boldly be stating,
and very much only pertaining
to the ending...
your ending...
by choice...
by “suicide of September”
While I’m saying goodbye forever,
but this time not to myself...
always and only forever,
without all undo sincerity,
always with coldest regards,
and please, despise the rest of your day,
Hate,
Dre
(2013)
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