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Apr 1
When I was 15, the world ended.
And it wasn't as spectacular as I thought it was going to be.
I had always imagined the sky tearing open and flames of fury would rain down upon us all,
But instead, it was my heart that was torn in half, and the fire only rained down on me.
It took 45 seconds for me to destroy everything that I knew,
and create an entirely different world,
Not only for me, but also for the people that knew me.
I was born again, bore the sin, more than anything horrible I ever felt, I was torn in ten.
Had I put a knife to my throat? Or fell in love?
What's the origin?
And nobody could ever understand it better than the horror itself that closed me in.
But she destroyed the bin,
With me in it and I was never ever sure again.
Like paper shredding under fluorescent tubes, my skin was thin.
Let demons in and they took shelter and then horrid soreness manifested within.
The eyes of the Lord looking down upon the men and women,
And all he could see was that my darkness had surfaced again.
I swore to Him I'd never resort to that sin,
But more than expected I was short of the win,
And lost myself with hopelessness,
My unfortunate friend.
Scorching torture forced me to pretend,
Over and over I retorted the fib with a grin;
Smiled as the lore spread like venom in skin.
The door to the end was open.
Therefore I went in,
And premonitions filled my core,
So I was forced to give in.
Over the course of a decade, the source of discourse caused me to see a red shade of anger.
For what felt like 4 million days I endured the rage,
Simple and plain I was psychotic, in danger,
ignoring the ways
To force myself to have a smile on my face.
It remains insane to me how the blade, when it penetrated,
Gave my skin goosebumps,
The doctor made me feel humiliated.
Sickness in my brain wants to put me in my grave,
OD was the second time I attempted the same.
But the fact of the matter is
The facts are a shame.
And the way that I felt this day,
Brought hope of finding a way,
To rid my head of the voices that haunt me,
Spewing disdain.
Third time's a charm I suppose,
Or at least that's what they say.
Cole Maxwell
Written by
Cole Maxwell  25/M/New Orleans
(25/M/New Orleans)   
381
 
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