bright darkness.

loud silence.

heart hurting.

it’s still beating.

the only way it can stop,

is if it stops.

eyes closed.

but I can see memories.

like knives, they cut deep into my soul.

if you could see it,

there’d be a thousand cuts.

no healing.

just pain.

only one way.

no going back now.

the end to my suffering,

the savior I’ve been waiting for,

grasped in my hand.

the cold, hard steel,

the heavy weight.

I knew it would end me,

I knew it would set me free.

lifting it up,

holding it against my head.

the only way to get the thoughts to stop.

the only way to clear my mind.

the sharp cutting memories would finally end.

I counted to three.





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Hgaut810's picture

Holay Fuck!

Powerful my man.  Keep doing your thing.  The pain is real.  Keep at it. Thanks.

allets's picture

The Big Bang Theory

I was attracted to the sliced soul image - it feels like that - I think I was born depressed and life means combatting it daily. Find some stress, engage in it for ten years - you will still want to end it all, but you will have a lot of memories and a lot more pain to stand between thinkin' it and doin' it. The poem is wonderful as art and as confession - be well and welcome to postpoems where the end of the road/and rope are always in our first lines - Yours In Writing ~Lady A~