F**k off, Cormier

I thought about suicide,
how easy it would be,
to jump or pull a trigger,
tie a rope or down some pills.
But then I thought of the
people around me, and what
they would say.
A coward, too weak to go on,
that is what they'd carve on my tombstone,
and no one really wants that.
What about though, instead of me
I let someone else pull the trigger?
Go overseas, gun in hand,
jump off the chopper, run for cover,
shoot, duck, shoot, duck,
shoot, forget to duck, die.
Momma would be proud, of her little
soldier boy.  A flag to her doorstep would
be much better than a call from the morgue.
As a badge she could hang the flag,
to let all know her son was somebody,
not nobody, like I am.
Dad, he'd be happy, glad I finally was a man,
and as I rot at least I will be worth pride to a
man who never gave me much time.
I wouldn't be there little mess,
I'd only be there pictures, memories,
little trickets left in the other room.
A badge, a flag, a uniform and a pin.
That would be best, don't you think?
Tears of pride instead of tears of sorrow,
if any of those could fall.
Friends will forget, move on,
time heals all wounds they say,
and I've never scratched the surface
of meaning for anyone.
It all seems easy, all seems so clear,
but only time will tell, I suppose,
I suppose.