When You're Happy

I woke up crying, smelling blood. A bad dream I can't remember. Life still seems like a bad dream sometimes. I don't get to wake up from life.

I don't think I'll ever be normal. Whatever that is. Something I'm not.

I wanted to kill myself but I didn't have any bullets. I was too cowardly to go buy bullets.

Then it occurred to me that you have to buy the bullets when you're happy. So you'll be ready.

There's not much time left. One child is grown and gone, the other will be soon, as well.

I won't have any purpose then. Four short years to an empty nest. 

How will I talk myself out of suicide then? No one will need me anymore and I'm so tired.

A bad night, like tonight. The smell of blood all around me. The knowledge that nothing I've ever done matters to anybody. Nothing I've ever been matters to anybody.

I don't matter. I do. I don't. I do. I don't. I do. I don't. I do. I don't. I do. I don't.

A drop of sin in a glass of clean, clear water.

A drop of water in an endless ocean of sin.

I'm not known to anyone, not even myself. I tried looking for me. I'm not there.

Where did I go? Was I ever even here?

It's all been a bad, bloody dream and in four years time, if I can make it that long, I'll get to wake up. If I'm lucky. 

I've always been lucky. I was born in America, after all.

You've got to buy the bullets when you're happy. That's the trick.

I've got four years.