“You can do this”,
I whisper to myself.
“The past is done,
so put it on the shelf”.

I’ve told myself this,
so many times.
I’ve wrote reams of content,
full of self hate in rhymes.

I would go along,
slowly gaining confidence,
then came the back slide,
and the heartfelt recompense.

Over and over,
never ending it seemed.
Until I thought of an end,
where I could be redeemed.

I wanted to end it,
the pain and the sorrow.
I really didn’t care,
if there was no more tomorrow.

Thinking back now,
I’ve finally realized.
That the hope of an end,
was a bag full of lies.

My pain would end,
by ending my life,
but others pain would grow,
so I had a double edged knife.

That’s when I realized,
I was holding the blade.
No matter how I moved it,
new cuts would be made.

I have to carry this knife,
until the end of all things,
but I can carry it by the hilt,
and end this suffering.

It’s there,
and still sharp,
but it’s at arms length,
away from my heart.

I can keep control,
I know I have to,
and at this moment,
it’s all I can do.