whipping boy

Write me some of that
shitty ass poetry, boy
You've filled notebooks
with the same "poor me" tripe
since you were in high school
Tell me about your numbered days
and all the ways
you imagine ending it all
You're right--
you've wandered down
an idiot path
Now you can't get your head
out of your ass
long enough to count your blessings
You've made yourself
some kind of pathetic
whipping boy
Simple man, my ass
you have a thousand various ways
of defeating yourself
What would a day be like
without all of your piteous noise?
Would the future seem better
if you could lay off the guilt?
Would the nights pass peacefully
if you were able to stop
dipping your heart
in broken glass and fear?
I like to imagine
these things for you
I know, too
that you keep your pain close.