Part 3

Let me start off brutally and psycho-viciously

I know why I want to die

When I was young, despite the pain of being “different”

(You ought’nt think of rainbows, but more of robots, as I was)

Was nothing compared to the joy and wonder I felt

But tell me, what were its origins?

From the cartoons I watched, that showed children of all shapes and sizes

Doing various things with their time and space

That was above and beyond the time and space of my own

To the games I would play

There was a world above and beyond reality

And a world below

Like thick mist, I settled into these worlds

Safe and far away from the harshness of my cursed form

A reality to which I was lent free reminders constantly

In the eyes of the world, my world, specifically

I was to many, nothing more than a short, fat, black, autistic bastard.

But by the right ones

Was I loved

There is no less love now than there was then

But there is much less hope.

Even the video games have turned to realism

And the reality is dim and grim.

I deal with you regularly in the waking world

Why would I want to face you in a dream!?

Dismal and abysmal.

Duck your head down low and pray on high.

Pray that the bullets whizzing past your helmet don’t penetrate your skull.

Pray that the electricity creeping with unstoppable force behind you

Doesn’t greet you as expeditiously as the due dates ahead of you.

Of what you might ask? Of bills and assignments.

But just like this dome of lightning encroaching upon your ethereal form

The pain of your failures and inadequacies will encroach upon your soul.

So wickedly, with no forethought or aforementioned to freedom from this:

This sick and twisted game

Rise from your trench as two bullets, one of 5.56 millimeters, the other of 7.62

Whiz, tipped with the malice of their shooters, past your skull

The only layer of protection you have is a thin combination of plastic and metal.Now think

Isn’t it funny how the credit cards are so equally plastic,

and your coins,

So equally metal?