Apr 14
I’ve been wanting to die –
But it’s been taking so much time,
So, I rang up suicide…
Greetings, O Death, why do you not approach? You are aware of my
depression, and we both recognize I’m such a mess; speaking from
my chest, while my heart is shielded by a metaphorical bulletproof
vest. I am shattered in this tomb-like gloom; those funeral regrets of
not having the power to decide if I’ll be dressed at my level of best.
The residue of sorrow clings to my breath, like coal dust – as every
train of thought rides the tracks of my morbid dreams of death.
But do you know the sound of pain – those around me seem so deaf,
even as I look like a piece of parched land; my eyes are a dry red -
I have no real tears left.
I’ve been wanting to die –
But it’s been taking so much time,
So, I rang up suicide…
Hey there, can you hear me now? These words may seem utterly
absurd, yet I strive to have my voice heard, like a solitary soul lost
among the herd. But maybe a gun to the head can make me seem so
heard – you know I’m just so hurt. Your silence lingers, and in this
suffocating darkness, that once-bright flame of passion feels so burnt.
I find myself devoid of tears, breath, or any glimmer of hope, and
though I rarely swear, I feel as if I am under a curse.
Lately, my inner demons have become my closest equals; my friends
feel more like other people– and this is the hardest part of my life,
that death seems so simple.
I’ve been wanting to die –
But it’s been taking so much time,
So, I rang up suicide…
In the spaces between my breaths, there’s heavy pauses; as I give out
a lot of fake poses. Here I stand, at the intersection of my loneliness,
waiting for you, in hand – a bunch of roses. I’ve had to force myself to
accept these ungodly forces – trying to worship, even as I view my
existence as a sea full of war ships.
But maybe you shouldn’t call my line – when I’m hanging with
family, that have me feeling like hanging myself; it was a folly,
pretending to them that I was always fine.
Until we cross paths again someday. Bye!
But it’s been taking so much time,
So, I rang up suicide…
Greetings, O Death, why do you not approach? You are aware of my
depression, and we both recognize I’m such a mess; speaking from
my chest, while my heart is shielded by a metaphorical bulletproof
vest. I am shattered in this tomb-like gloom; those funeral regrets of
not having the power to decide if I’ll be dressed at my level of best.
The residue of sorrow clings to my breath, like coal dust – as every
train of thought rides the tracks of my morbid dreams of death.
But do you know the sound of pain – those around me seem so deaf,
even as I look like a piece of parched land; my eyes are a dry red -
I have no real tears left.
I’ve been wanting to die –
But it’s been taking so much time,
So, I rang up suicide…
Hey there, can you hear me now? These words may seem utterly
absurd, yet I strive to have my voice heard, like a solitary soul lost
among the herd. But maybe a gun to the head can make me seem so
heard – you know I’m just so hurt. Your silence lingers, and in this
suffocating darkness, that once-bright flame of passion feels so burnt.
I find myself devoid of tears, breath, or any glimmer of hope, and
though I rarely swear, I feel as if I am under a curse.
Lately, my inner demons have become my closest equals; my friends
feel more like other people– and this is the hardest part of my life,
that death seems so simple.
I’ve been wanting to die –
But it’s been taking so much time,
So, I rang up suicide…
In the spaces between my breaths, there’s heavy pauses; as I give out
a lot of fake poses. Here I stand, at the intersection of my loneliness,
waiting for you, in hand – a bunch of roses. I’ve had to force myself to
accept these ungodly forces – trying to worship, even as I view my
existence as a sea full of war ships.
But maybe you shouldn’t call my line – when I’m hanging with
family, that have me feeling like hanging myself; it was a folly,
pretending to them that I was always fine.
Until we cross paths again someday. Bye!
