I've been feeling guilty about being alive. What all the obituaries will tell you is true: I did have everything, I had intelligence, money, love, parents who cared, and so on ad nauseum. Which is why I can't blame it on anyone else. There really is no easy excuse for why I did what I did. I was no longer happy, I guess. Yet, as to why I was unhappy, I can't say. I could blame it on my parents, but that would be a lie; maybe some deep pain from my past was surfacing; or maybe it was hating who I was, but fearing to change it. But I did it, as you can see. As you can also see, I painted my walls red for the occassion; it will be easier to clean up that way. You can still smell the paint while I'm writing this. (I find that amusing for some reason) but you probably won't be able to by the time you read this, all you'll smell... blood and decay. When you find this, I hope you pay attention. You probably won't ever figure out why I did it (I'm not sure even I have) But, I hope you get a big taste of my bitterness and sorrow. Doesn't my room look nice, plain red walls, no furniture, I sold all of it to a bunch of people I didn't even know, (I couldn't have anyone I knew knowing, yet) and gave the money to the bum that sleeps by my work... Kindof a parting gift of good will. All I have left is my chair, my sawed-off, a pencil and a piece of paper. I put my chair in the center of the room, facing South, cuz that's the direction I'm headed. Then I got dressed in what I wanted to be buried in, my nicest clothes: imitation Armani suit, and black wingtips. Then I sat down to write this. To all of you, I leave my note: I hope you learn something. To my parents, I leave my shotgun: I hope you find it as useful as I have. To my lover, I leave my chair: it's my favorite chair, the one we would make love in when everyone thought we were playing on the computer: It's all I have left. But that shouldn't matter, to anyone who really cares. I'll miss you all, so before I lose my nerve, good~bye.
Reason for writing:
This poem was originally meant to be a joke, I just woke up
and wondered wht I would do if I were going to kill myself.
But since I wrote it, everyone's taken it really serious. So I
just toy with them for a little while. It's really funny to
watch them freak out and start yelling at me "Don't do it,
you've got too much to live for!!!!" Then I tell them the
truth and they feel all stupid. But oh well.
Any way, I'm going to bed now, so:
PEACE, HARMONY, LOVE AND HAPPINESS.
The Count
Birth sign: Not entered
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View more poems by Russ Fryman {Leo}.