A lot of people hate this poem.. They wonder why someone who's so constantly happy would write something like that... The first person who read it recommended a psychiatrist.. Writing's my outlet, I guess.... everybody hurts right.. this is just how I get it out of my system... Helps me stay the way I am...
Tell Mother I'm sorry,
kinda left in a hurry,
and left all the laundry undone.
I hope you realize
That after my demise
She wont have to pretend she never had me for a son.
Tell Kenny I lied
everytime I denied
killing his girlfriend that fatefull Saturday night.
I loved her too you see,
but I was left alone when he
got us all crossed up in a fight.
Tell the schoolmaster to look
in my cupboard behind the little black book.
He'll find several small pieces of his favourite whiplash cane.
My hands, they're still red
from the places where they bled
and on that stick my bloodstains remain.
Tell Daddy to celebrate
now that I've met my fate
and open that bottle of his precious red wine.
and quietly say,"Here lies Fred."
"He shot himeslf dead"
"I buried him but he was no son of mine."