My fingers hurt from pulling off the skin
anxiously awaiting apocalypse and
hoping fleshly pain can take my mind away
as racing pressure pushes me to look upon death's countenance with glee.
Nothing's working, thoughts overwhelming,
I am drowning in my woes.
No one's understanding, myself notwithstanding,
Death gives me her hand and then she gives me confidence
to do the dreadful deed.
"What about your pops
and your mom
and your friends
and your guinea pigs?"
Let my corpse speak to how fatherly,
how motherly,
how friendly they were.
My dad calls, I tell him "I'm doing well.
I took a walk to clear my head"
As I carry my crown in a plastic bag
I know I have a throne in hell
but God's the one who should have taken me while I was pious
I open the door, no one's home
Mom's at work, Dad left some years ago
If I could, I would shed tears
but Death guides me to my room.
In my closet there's a rail,
take my clothes up off it
place my final garment
nylon rope with a little tape on it.
I leave no notes 'cause no words could evoke
the painful stroke
of young life cast in the dirt
Ashes up in smoke
Now there's no remorse
Death's my only course
I get up in that rope
Empty my lungs and choke
To the sea of flames I go
Moments later, I wake with a nasty bruise,
bleeding from my wound, nylon necklace must be broken
Disbelieving, pain-stricken and mostly blind
Vomit expels from my body
Inhale the chunks, hack up the blood from my lungs
My arm twitching as I fail to move my legs
Moaning, flailing what I can, swimming in bloody vomit
Making low, wet groans as the panic sets in
Broken in body and spirit,
when will God receive his son?
How will mom receive her son?
"How could I have been this dumb?"
I thrash in rage and terror
More wet yells
Blood expels
I scratch my useless eyes
I know now I'm in hell
-
Author:
AnxiousMane (
Offline) - Published: November 29th, 2016 02:08
- Comment from author about the poem: This is meant to capture the experience surrounding my first suicide attempt and what could have happened if things didn't go as "well" as they had. I don't quite remember where I got the picture from, but I feel like it belongs.
- Category: Sad
- Views: 45
Offline)
Comments3
Please do not make any more attempts. Focus instead on your writing. You could be helping people. The descriptions of the "event" are well written and graphic, as they should be. Keep writing.
That's the plan, thanks.
So very glad to here that....:)
Great write. Use your writing skills to help others
I appreciate it and I will try.
Welcome
This is a very well written account , it connects so directly, very compelling.
I'm trying to get at the vivid imagery and impactful language that, according to Lucien Styrk in the introduction to "The Gift of Great Poetry," good poetry is supposed to use.
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