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May 7th.
The police were called in.
The family was huddled, crying.
The police pushed their way
Through towards the door.
When they saw what was there,
They felt sympathy for them.
Sprawled on the ground was
The body of their teenage son.
His skull bore a hole
Where the bullet had entered.
They told the family to
Move back from the scene.
The police emerged a few
Minutes later with a note.
"Do you know what this
Is supposed to mean?"
The mother took the paper.
All that was there was
"MAY 7TH" written boldly across.
"I'm sorry, but I don't know."
The cops gave their condolences
And waited outside as the
Paramedics came and carried
The body away from there.
Three weeks passed by,
And the pain had yet
Disappeared from the home.
Everytime someone passed by
His bedroom, they wept loudly.
The mother finally went in
To clear out what remained.
When she went into his drawer,
She found a black journal.
She took a look to see
What had happened to him.
The more she read on,
The more she cried.
It was when she reached
The entry labeled "May 7th"
That she absolutely lost it.
Her husband rushed in
To console his wife.
When he asked what happened,
She showed him the journal.
He read the passage that
She had cried to.
Today is May 7th.
It was yet again
Another day of endless torture.
People spitting on me,
Tripping me in the halls.
The beating up in the bathrooms
Were just icing on the cake.
I have had enough of this.
Tonight, I put an end
To all of my pain.
When everyone is in bed,
I'll sneak into dad's closet
And take his magnum.
Then I will proceed to
Burrow a bullet deep
Into my brain. Maybe,
Just maybe, people will realize
The pain and suffering
They cause finally pushed someone
Over the deep end.
My only regret about this
Is that my parents will suffer.
To them, I am sorry.
This is it. It's the end.
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