I was 16 when I was first faced with death. My mother and self drove down the highway in her midnight blue boat of a car, and then I was faced with truth. Some let there dog out. A black lab. He was laying open on the highway. I couldn't tell where dog stopped and the insides begain.
That red was so dark it was black.
When I was 17 she feel and I saw her insides. A clot of blood so big it looked like jello.
I cut your name into my arm, cause its cool to be a fuck up. To bad i have good skin, i can never cut deep enough.
The past is still here.
My friend, that dog. But the cuts have left. My arm burns. I miss being a fuck up.
Thats not true i'm still a fuck up.
No I don't cut, i don't have to. Death will always be in my face. offering me a cup of coffee, and telling me that in the end we will all find out the truth.
