There was a note
Though it really only furthered confusion
It would have been clear to anyone who found this boy, our son
That this ill conceived offensive was no suicide

His intention was not to kill himself
Affronting the laws of auto erotic asphyxia, nothing else

His neck was bruised and kinda scratched up
It was clear that he had struggled
It was evident he knew it had gone too far
A thought not actualized soon enough

His intention was not to kill himself
See right here it says
Forgive me if you find me - dead!

This note is supposed to comfort us?
A grisly way to transcend into death
Gagging, gasping, struggling for breath
A dislocated scene; blood vomit drool and cum
An image you won't eviscerate from your thoughts

So what do we do, who do we call?
What'll they say, do we really want anyone to see him this way?
Surely someone engaged in acts this bizarre must give something away
Look at his face, all disfigured and blue

They say life is what you make it
Well our boy made his a fucking mess
How often I wonder, would he flirt with death?
How often would he reach out to caress the reaper's hand

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