i can't do this anymore.
i'm so
tired.
-
how cruel is it that we don't shame the cancer patient
who had outlived grim predictions and grueling circumstances
but in the end still succumbed to what was eating them
alive.
how we don't scoff at their graves
tease at their families
saying how awful it must be knowing your child died like that
knowing that it was something so trivial
so benign
and yet it still consumed them.
and how cruel is it
that while there is something eating me inside out
something that has the relentlessness of a thrice crowned king
is actively trying to get me to jump
how cruel is it that even though i have outlived childhood fears
and doctor's predictions
i still might lose this fight.
-
when i was younger i often cried at night
pitying myself that my life wasn't like others
and i'd be told under the rays of the sun
that it was okay
i still had time.
but now time is running out
and with each passing sundown my shadow emerges
each time a little more
reminding me that i was never going to it.
i was never going to be the great scientist i dreamed of
i was never going to be able to write a grand novel
and i was never going to actually take my own life.
-
i tried writing my own suicide note
but got too many pathetic tears on the pages
and the ink would run and the page would tear
if i tried telling the world goodbye.
because in fairness
i want to die.
i've wanted to die since i gathered the sense to know
what it was like living
trapped inside an overflowing prison
i couldn't escape.
i've wanted to die since the idea of it made me
smile.
since the fear that bubbles up at the apprehension
of pulling the trigger
faded into a dulled acceptance
of what was yet to come.
-
while most people are enjoying the blooming warmth
frolicking about in frilled dresses and tanned skin
i am left hiding under bulky fabric
ashamed and afraid to let loose the gashes ebbed into my skin.
and you'd think this would deter me
it would make me shy away from the opportunity to destroy
myself.
but no
no
i still want to take blade to skin.
i still want to create little rivers onto my floor
and scream until my voice runs
dry.
-
there is one milestone keeping me from dying.
there is no point in trying to sound poetic anymore
there's no reason for me to chalk it up and smile
and pretend like everything is okay.
it's this one milestone that will keep me sobbing
keep me screaming and crying until no air comes out.
and after that
after the milestone has passed
i cant tell what i will do.
maybe i will find a reason to go on
maybe i'll be able to see that i can keep going
but maybe nothing will happen.
and maybe i'll just be permanently
facing down.
faggulicious Community Member 
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