one poem from seven ( suicide )
slash these dreams that I once made
this hate I yell won’t rest, it just rolls
fluttering eyelids that feel like blades
I’m steeper than the wish enthralled
load that gun and ready the razors strop
toss the rope and open all the pills
this malady has gone way beyond a full stop
suicide is the cure to cease all ills
unrehearsed this dying flame flickers
fingers of doubt pull quickly away to cool
a horse drawn hope with words and bickers
I feel the strain of this bowlegged stool
in the darkness I can see myself
the mirror holds a feign image
I hide from its eye with turbid stealth
as I know our opinions thrash and impinge
involuntary muscle movement slows
the speech from where it opens vein
I stutter and stammer the name of death
shall it come this groan of empty breath
will a shameful deliverance be a fact
or will its brace be old and a covered soil
to seek out truth without pride or fault
bleats the hands bloodied with religious toil
contentment is a sea of recklessness
its a vast putrid oceans tide in a foggy heart
it entices ships down to live as wrecks
and drifts their broken wood afar
others that look out into the pain you felt
may espy the lumbering wave it makes
a tsunami of unhappiness is crystal clear
a woe such as that is too hard to fake
I am dead, before the act of real death
my mind is laced with cool formaldehyde
thoughts stoop below its cognitive fire
this prison of atoms is hollow inside
I rest this reason, this fuel of regret
I’m the bust, the shell of a lost living ghost
as I grow weary of the time bestowed
I don’t wish to graze at the foot of a host
death, you stalk me with cunning and zeal
you track my trail and hunt me down
towards a life there seems no appeal
just the grey dank home of frowns
to die unafraid of what lies ahead
to behold no fear of what waters brew
to hear words dance from lips unsaid
chimes the clock fresh hunger for the new
eternity, you’ve scarred my face and soul
tricked me into believing the end would come
I feel deflated, unmeasured and lone
betwixt self and soul and its mark of truth
I wished to die though in truth I lived
as my wish came true in realization
that life is death and each are the same
our damnation is our creation
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