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Peter’s choice.

All weekend I’ve been spending money on liquor and strippers, which dont even make sense

But I dont expect you to believe me, my only proof when I die will be past bank statements

Its hard to admit to myself that I’m trying to drown all my sorrow in titties and alcohol

The worse has yet to come so prepare will eventually be the words I’ll have to fall back on

I’m open to new things, new hurts, new opportunities and most likely dissappointments

I just wish those same disappointments scheduled appointments with my poignant — heart

So that I could just deal and get bail from cardiac arrest, ample time, enough for me to heal

I can feel it in my chest, headaches, loss of everything, tell Lucifer get off my heels — Jesus Christ

Its hard for me to trust now, at times its hard for me to even fucking breathe and believe

Which sometimes makes it easier to leave, proof — you’re gone

There’s women crying over the fact that I’ll probably never commit to a “You and I,”

While internally I’m still bleeding and tripping over my father committing suicide

Three more months and the pain will rush back in me as it did last year

And losing any part of me, or hurting someone new, or regretting due to my insecurites


I keep it all inside of me and throw on my most fake smile in hopes that shit covers my cover up for


How long will I have to lie to myself or to anyone else for that matter

And keep all the ones who I love and the ones that love me at bay, who matter

I designed a carbon copy of me to mimic all in my head

And its as I dreaded that I’ve been so phony, for so long, that the real me is dead

No original schematics or blueprints like the ones my father drew on to create — Life

And even if I could, even if I wanted to, at this point getting myself back up would be too late — right

You dont know what you’ve done to me, giving me breath and teaching me only to leave me grieving

I’m more like you than myself now and more likely to collapse and fall harder and break into pieces

There are times where I peer at objects and wonder then wander off far into my own mind

Usually contemplating my own suicidal plots, like how many pills to swallow for a quickened time

Dead on arrival, my mother could never fathom two Frances’ death so close to each other

Sometimes I get real weak and want to just get it over with but in walks my little brother

Marcus, I look into his face, yet again he’s saved me from myself

My guardian angel was supposed to be you, now it’s an 11 year old — the hell

I’m grateful for him and moreover the lack of courage I have to actually go through with it

Those malicious thoughts, and knowing how you escaped man this life — my life’s a bitch

Are you proud of yourself — fuck you dude, I loved you and this is how you did

All I have is few items that you owned and scarce memories of you as a kid

I still stare at photographs where we held one another, lived, loved, in places together

Wishing time gave back what a son lost from his father.

kataclyzmic — I love you Peter, rest easy.



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One thought on “Peter’s choice.

  1. erdnaxela on said:

    You’re so talented… but I already knew this.

    Ps. Yup I'm stalking you ;-*

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