I know what you're thinking,
that I've fucked up right?
I know what you're saying,
I've already added it up.
I don't need to hear your words,
all they do is tear me up inside,
and inside all I've got left is scarred beaten child praying to a God who doesn't listen, crying to a mother who ain't comin', wishing for some fantastic reprieve from the demons he's locked in with.
Those demons are clawing at his back, burning up his face and raping his ever living soul...
and they feed off of that look you're giving me right now.
You can say, in so many words, you are proud of this 'man' that sits before you, failing classes and fucking his life for the future
but in both your heart and mine we know the disappointment you feel.
The dread you hold in your heart as you quietly sob in your sleep that another one of your children are fucking with his life.
Why this one?
He had so much promise to his future, why can't he just do his damned work?
Honestly I ask myself the same things.
But instead of chanting into slumber, I'm saying these things instead of sleep,
saying these things while I drive
while I try and focus in those mother fucking classes that are ruining my life.
I can't shake the notion that I'm not to be the person I had the potential to be.
And I can see all that in your soft, stressed face. "Everythings going to be alright".
Fuck that. Just Fuck it right now. Everything is not "going to be alright" because I am the failing unaccomplished little boy who will always be the disappointment in your life.