There used to be days I would hope my brains would splatter on the pavement.
And I’d take any drugs that were handed to me to see if I finally got lucky.
In all honesty it was nothing more than teenage angst bullshit and a bad childhood.
I was just one of many ungrateful hormonal idiots in the world without a father.
I lashed out at my family and often got into intense arguments for the pure hell of it.
And the more they hated something it was all the more I loved it.
There was hardly anything or anyone that I didn’t resent for little or no reason.
I was just reflecting the constant pain that I felt burn so deeply inside me.
It steamed from my parents leaving me, every friend that I ever lost, a young love that died, and a life that I could never have.
The only true difference now is that I’m far better at internalizing it.
Scot Simmons is an aspring poet and humorist from Houston Texas. His works have been at The Rye Whiskey Review, Under The Bleachers, The Anti-Heroin Chic, Horror Sleaze Trash, and Medusa's kitchen. He is also the editor of The Dope Fiend Daily and the co editor of The Rye Whiskey Review.His "artwork" can be seen at instagram under deranged_Texan.
