Maa didn’t teach me how to breathe
or how to write suicide notes
with a smile across my face,
I woke up one day
and I just knew how tight I should make that knot
and how to push the chair away.

Maa didn’t teach me how to wear long sleeve shirts
to cover the blade marks
or how to press the knife against my skin
and drag and feel better,
I woke up one day
and I just knew how to relax when the cold steel
runs across my skin

Maa didn’t teach me how to breathe
so I poked holes in my skin
to feel the air fill up my rotten lungs

Dad didn’t teach me how to hold a cigarette between my lips,
shelter it with my palms and light it
or how to inhale the taste of burning tobacco
and feel alive,
I woke up one day
and I knew how cigarettes work
and how they make you warm when your home doesn’t feel like home anymore

Dad didn’t teach me how to open a whiskey bottle with my teeth
and pour it into a glass, raw with only two ice cubes
or how prostitutes were better than fairy tale lovers,
I woke up one day
and I knew where I can get the best liquor, cheap or expensive
and where to search for the best hooker in town

Dad didn’t teach me how to live
so I got my heart broken
and now I make love with unknown faces
and often waste my nights sleeping on the sidewalk, drunk

I didn’t know how to write suicide notes
or how to write at all
but now I sell my art in this bookshop back in Downtown
and now every night I tie a rope to the ceiling
but I just cannot end it all

I learnt how to write suicide notes
but I never leant how to die.