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Aug 2020
Candlelight douses the dust in amber.
Wallpaper peeling, gathered at your feet.
In your left hand rests a picture of her.
In your right, your cowardly retreat.

Hemp fibers laced gently around your arm.
Cautiously you unwind this man-made snake.
Tossed to a beam in this forgotten farm,
you've found the home of your final mistake.

Stepping on stage, the warmth ensnares your neck.
Tied taut, the noose calls you as an old friend.
You cry now, lost within this dreary wreck.
You pray to dead gods. You have found the end.

Your feet meet air. With a gasp you are gone.
A life wasted, another soul withdrawn.
note: This poem is not a cry for help. I am not currently suicidal. It is merely a window into what that moment on the cusp can feel like.
Shin
Written by
Shin  29/M/Chicago
(29/M/Chicago)   
462
   Juneau
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