salted wounds
stay open

blood seeps
in your mind

as a heart
cries out its pain.

I want to be able to say, "I have some bad days but I am doing a lot better". I want to get better. I am begging to not feel this way anymore. Living in this body, in this mind, is so ******* exhausting. I am trying. I am trying with everything in me to get better, to be happy, to not end everything. I am ******* trying.

What's the purpose of writing a thousand poems
When all I want to say was just these two words,
I'm tired--

I played with words
much like I fed the birds

    one morsel here
          another there

then suddenly became aware

they pulled together
     and made sense

have been a player ever since

'But sadness is a gift, you see.
For we are given our sadness so that we might appreciate our happiness.'

Mother Nature gave me what I'd need to succeed.
Father Time insisted it was him I'd have to heed.

But death -our family friend-
has always been my favoured neighbour.
Never made me hate my frame or watch as others wither.

I won't defend what death does,
I won't blame Time instead.
For aches and breaks and shakes and strain,
I prefer what lies ahead.