Ticking like a mini bomb
So the seconds of life tick away in my head
Knowing full well it'll reach zero soon
I sit and wait.
The chair squeaks as I inhale
The very breath I take hurts
The skin that I live in doesn't feel like home
Not that it ever did
You can't see past the blood and tears
The ticking in my head has stopped
The chair sits quietly
It doesn't hurt anymore
And for once, I feel at home
I feel at home before the grim reaper.
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Author:
roxanna (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 23rd, 2023 21:32
- Comment from author about the poem: Hello. This is my first poem I am releasing on this platform. but not my first poem written.\r\nthis poem was written as a way to express how I felt about my future. \r\nI was at my breaking point and su*cide seemed a the next step for me. \r\nso I wrote this poem during that time. \r\nI hope this platform is a place I can share all my poems.
- Category: Sad
- Views: 8
Offline)
Comments2
Welcome my friend to this open space, where we share and share alike. Your first poem here is of a very profound nature, and your verse eloquent. The subject is one that plagues so many, and you have found release in expression. I look forward to reading your future poems. Take care!
this means so much to me. thank you dear!
This reads with clarity and a sad truth for many. Keep in mind, that the quiet that sometimes comes before the reaper also comes before a new page is turned. That darkness is so often interpreted as an absence of light, but truth is that it is a combination of so much light. Welcome to the site!
I thank you for this, truly!.
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