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Doctors,
Therapist.
Labels, Labels
They make suicide so complicating.
What is so hard to understand; we don’t wanna live, our reasons our own.
“Keep this as private as possible.”
Don’t ruin the career.
“Take him to a certified therapist.”
Try to fix me.
“Don’t tell his brother specifics.”
Brother, lover, cheater, hater.
Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep!
“Stabilize him!”
“Don’t let him go!”
Let me go, let me die, my brother wont care;
My lover doesn’t care.
You people don’t even know,
the quality of brotherhood I share with him,
he who pretend to love me,
the outcast of the family.
He desires Frankie more, more then me, so I must leave,
be out of their way.
Brother, lover, cheater, hater.
“We’re losing him!”
“Its to late.”
“Call his brother, its time to say good-bye.”
Get rid of the problem,
let it die off,
thank you father.
Loud bangs and hurried footsteps
I could not tell you,
how much I hated those steps.
For they brought the center of my pain...