gimme that ol' fashion morphine
March 9, 2007
I’m waiting in this little bedroom of mine, debating if I’ll turn out fine. It’s extreme to think about that life I once lead and even scarier to think that some people were left dead.
Dead.
Dead… I could say that death doesn’t effect me or something. It doesn’t until later, at least. It hurts and it burns and rings in my fucking ears, and makes me wish that I too wasn’t here. But god damn, people shouldn’t die. It just fucking leaves me in that endless hole of “why?!”
WHY did he have to DIE?
Who cares what I thought wouldn’t happen. I didn’t think his message machine would still be in existence. His parents must keep paying to avoid their resistance. But, once again…
WHY did he have to die?
-Kelsey