Like father, like son;
like a martyr to suicide.
the space between is blooming black and blending
depression, into the corners of every symptom in demand.
mom and dad say he's ill,
he's sick, he's sad, he's in need of certain pills,
he's not medically well,
but i'm not sure if
he's in need
of any of this shit they dare to feed.
they say,
like father, like son-
more like martyr to a gun.














Comments
brilliant spacing in the end there
--
ideals... deception... humanity...
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