Can’t wait til death come knocking.
24 years, yet the pain ain’t stopping.
At night I picture my body rocking, seizing from a bullet to the temple.
Or od off the drugs that was supposed keep me mental.
Sane, but every-days the same.
Avoiding suicidal thoughts, just as good as you dodge rain.
For a real one.
Either ima take my life or ima steal one.
And ain’t sunshine for a nigga with anxiety and depression.
Looking up at God as I grip this weapon. Pouring out my confessions, same time sending curses cuz tired of all the stressing. Too jaded to count my blessings.
So now I’m in this place.
It’s even scarier when you the one holding the gun to your face.