and you’ll think way back when, to the days
when your dad sat beside you as you tried to fall asleep
as he pet your hair as you sobbed because of me, the always villainous problem child

and i sat downstairs laughing and writing angry poems
and dreaming that one day i will be lucky enough to be brutally murdered
and i will welcome death like a long lost brother

as a blunt object destroys the brain that i thought you wished you had
as i sit in my bed at night and wish that someone would shoot me

fear,
when a car takes a few seconds too long
to pull through the cul de sac,
at the same time,
being longing and hope
that the person is looking into my window
with a deer-in-the-taillights look in my eyes

just wishing
for a bullet to enter my brain
because i know they are watching me
even though i know that i’m delusional