Comics are suicide notes waiting to happen
How can you be so funny and have so much darkness?
Being a comic
is a suicide note
waiting to happen
our humor was bred
born within the cesspool
of a demented imagination
coupled with our devolving
heritage we keep reliving
reviving in our bits
created from an upbringing
no one ever wanted
the silver lining
is that we can get you to laugh
being funny
is the ultimate I’m alright
when truly you’re anything but
I’ve used it to protect
the level of depression
I’m going through
is it the world doesn’t give a fuck
or ways to not be here anymore
I’m told ‘you’re so funny’
as if it’s a gift
but nothing is taken seriously
when you don’t know how to stop laughing
my friends know how to read my pages
the parts in invisible ink
no one else can see
they see my eyes darkening
with the rising of the tide
looking to crush me from the inside out
they ask me are you okay
and truly I’m not
I don’t know how to ask for help
I scream it in my dreams
my lungs never letting it out
I’m pulling at my own seams
like a rag doll falling to pieces
the stuffing leaching
everything breaching over the wall
I use to hold this shit in
all I know is to be funny
a constant jester
that drum playing to a joke
at times I am everything
and I am the nothing
I never face because
it waits for me in the recesses
of my brain
it is my innate insane
the humor you see now
is my trying to tame it
when I feel the nothing
grip me I remind myself
I have conquered it before
even if it feels impossible
the improbable
can be relinquished
I just need to wipe
my jester smile off
and when asked if I’m okay
tell them, actually, I’m not
please join me in this darkness
hold my hand until I can see
the light again because I don’t want
to be alone anymore
trapped and crushed
like a trash compactor
in my own mind
while it binds me like vines
strangling every bit of life
grip my fingers tighter
within your own as a reminder
that I never have to face this
alone.
