Dear everybody,

or whoevers listening.
I think I'm gonna do me in this time.
This is all overrated,
waiting on my roof again this is the end
of my so called life.

I haven't seen the sun in about a week
and I'm keeping all sharp objects out of reach.
I finally know the taste of love,
it's a cross between cheap beer and blood
with an aftertaste of dry sarcastic speech.
And so I guess it's safe to say
that we both knew that I'd end up this way,
with a brain that's clueless and unsure
and eyes that hardly ever work but
I guess that's fine I rarely use them anyway.