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Bragi May 2018
Slow down
Beat
Quick
Feet
Dangle
Beneath
Hold my breath
Is it defeat?
A little treat
Left for me
one so weak?
Life’s lessons learned
But none to teach
Who was she?
Twitch
Why was he
Twitch
There?
Twitch
Th’ air’s a sea
Twitch
Swimming
Twitch
Swimming
Twitch
Swimming
Twitch

Twitch


Twitch



.


La mort petite.
Important note to readers: However you read this, suicide is a very serious topic and should never be taken lightly. If you need help in any way big or small there are many places to turn. This is just one of them:-
(United Kingdom)
Samaritans – for everyone
Call 116 123
Email jo@samaritans.org
Bragi May 2018
Can’t sleep.
Lying here.
On my bed.
A bright screen.
White
Dead?
No life.
My head
Filled with knives.
I bled.
For a time.
Words unsaid
Steady decline.
Depression fed.
Fault’s mine.
Should’ve fled.
Was a sign
Should’ve read.
Got there fine.
Where it led?
Should’ve said
A bright screen.
White.
Now red.
Dead?

Not yet.
What’s next
Lying here
On my bed?
Bragi May 2018
In a garden filled with flowers
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Patient like impatiens
You lay, lie
Lac of worry.

The Wisteria hands you here
another idea
‘Forget-Me-Not’ it says.
All the while the Orchids
struggle beneath
to compete;
A heartbeat you notice
as carefully and clear
as the Clematis is.

Under the sun-flowers
you nurture the buttercups
Bluebells
maintain the Marigolds
While through the kitchen window
he washes, watches, waves, wearing his Marigolds.

The Evening primrose shows
through the Iris of our eyes
a Lilac sky
leaning on a golden glow
in the lavender scented air
and you remind yourself
This is your Gardenia.

You made it.
Maintained it.
Arranged it.
Sustained it.

For in this garden filled with timeless flowers
you were the gardener.
and now the gardener must go
so that she, herself,
may grow.
Bragi May 2018
I can’t do this
Thoughts like mist

a fist.
Fog.
My minds missing a cog

a clock.
My eyes are burning

Hurting
My thoughts are turning

stop.
My stomach

in knots

A rot
Inside out
all I can think about.

stop
Falling over me like a wash
Of molten lava
Melting me from the inside

Out.
Hot.

The Devil my master.

Monster

food for thought.
The heat you feel when the cold
Won’t stop
your soul’s been bought.

Hot.

Heat makes for

Heavy
Breathing.

Heaving.

Heave


Heaven.

Stop.

— The End —