Poem 8

You think you know how I feel
You think you know what's best for me
You can't even run your own life
Nor provide for your own needs.

You think you know how I feel
Yet you've never even stood in my shoes
Seen the world through my damaged eyes
Nor lived a life tainted by my blues.

You say you know how it is to be young;
You remember all the thrills and perks.
Yet if I were not your son
You'd only call me a stupid jerk.

I think I'll end all of this misery
Right here, right now
So, in closing,
I lift the gun to my brow.


July 2, 1997
©1997 Jason R. Cunningham


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