Suicidal Thoughts
The shackles bound his legs,To a couple of rusted pegs,
His heart is clogged with shit,
Not something for a first aid kit,
But he is in a prison with these conditions,
Trying to remember his old family traditions,
The government isn't helping him become free,
Yeah them motherfucking pricks took him from me,
Now odds are he will die,
And that prison will lie,
Well you bastards your fucked this time,
You filthy rotten goddamn nasty slime,
You have messed with the wrong man and the wrong son,
I wish I could so kindly introduce to my little friend called a gun,
But I hold back and try to not shake,
But this is more shit than I can take,
I cry and weep,
But try to sleep,
Picture you in this man's shoes,
You have never had to pay his dues,
Maybe I should pull this gun out,
Or should I just scream and shout,
I think I will just take a sheet,
It would be better than packing heat,
and put my life to an end,
And take a trip around the bend.
Poetry by Justin
Read 551 times
Written on 2006-04-04 at 03:35
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