My Suicide Note by Bo-Edward Lawrence

My Suicide Note

You know i never thought i would be alive long enough to write this poem.

Witnessing God in my dreams, talking to me

I didn't want to wake up. I was having a much better time asleep. 

As sad as that sounds.

It was almost like a reverse nightmare, 

usually when you wake up from a nightmare you're so relieved. 

I woke up into a nightmare.

I woke up to the sounds of my knuckles knocking on the devils gate. 

I am not his advocate..

God forgive me for my sins.

My angel wings have been burned off my aching skeleton 

The pain i feel is more traumatizing and genuine as if i was a war veteran

sleep is the cousin of death and suicide is its closest relative

This cold barrel to my dome, never made me afraid but for some reason i feel like I’m going home.

God, I’m coming home

They say every second, minute, and hour of the day you write your future, your story.

There were many times i wished i could tear out some of the pages, but instead i always feel like burning the entire book.

its all bad! 

The entire world is against me. 

Can someone. . 

Tell my mother that she is the kindest angel i have ever known

and my father, thank you for teaching me how to be a man.

Tell them I’m sorry that this life lesson doesn’t feel like a blessing but instead like a curse.

Tell the reporters that i was never into drugs or a criminal 

just make sure they don’t sell me to the world as a bad person.

I raise home to my head and put it next to my temple 

and i reflect . . . .

The easiest thing in life is to quit. The hardest thing in life is to live.

Just to know that all my pain, all my hurt can end with a pull of a trigger. . 

I want my death to be beautiful, i want my death to be meaningful. would it be considered beautiful if i scattered my brains on this windshield as my old thoughts create a Picasso.

I don’t want to be the man that nobody knows until he commits suicide, and then everyone had a class with him.

Sometimes home isn’t the answer, sometimes running away isn’t the right thing to do. 

I want to be known as the one who stared down the barrel of a gun and found enough beauty to look away. 

and live. . .