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tara-indiaPoems
“You shouldn’t be here” they hiss Call, whisper from every Wall and atom of air around me Constantly overwhelmed By deserving to die By living too long and For no true purpose My heart beats on stolen time And I painfully aware I should have been Long gone -- Long dead by now I don’t quite recognise My own voice as Those most prominent Scream -- screech “It should have worked” Last time should have been The last and not the Most recent My breaths are tainted And undeserved I wish I were dead -- Do I wish it or them Waves of inertia sweep With worthlessness and Life’s futility Over me they wash and I cannot resist so I merely Hold my breath and Pray to drown in them “Coward” For not letting it work For my survival instincts I shouldn’t be here My place is six feet Under the ground I should be dead I deserve it But still I want to live for The things I have Yet to taste or Touch – kiss or own Through my hopelessness I try to keep going but They are intent upon My imminent fall My death They paralyse me and Trick me daily Into believing I am worth Nothing more than Pills -- Blades or bridges Or bullets Lonely and ashamed I sit Guilt covering me Immobile Unable to function Simply wishing to be free. © Tara India.
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Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 6:52 PM UTC
survivor's guilt
“You shouldn’t be here” they hiss Call, whisper from every Wall and atom of air around me Constantly overwhelmed By deserving to die By living too long and For no true purpose My heart beats on stolen time And I painfully aware I should have been Long gone -- Long dead by now I don’t quite recognise My own voice as Those most prominent Scream -- screech “It should have worked” Last time should have been The last and not the Most recent My breaths are tainted And undeserved I wish I were dead -- Do I wish it or them Waves of inertia sweep With worthlessness and Life’s futility Over me they wash and I cannot resist so I merely Hold my breath and Pray to drown in them “Coward” For not letting it work For my survival instincts I shouldn’t be here My place is six feet Under the ground I should be dead I deserve it But still I want to live for The things I have Yet to taste or Touch – kiss or own Through my hopelessness I try to keep going but They are intent upon My imminent fall My death They paralyse me and Trick me daily Into believing I am worth Nothing more than Pills -- Blades or bridges Or bullets Lonely and ashamed I sit Guilt covering me Immobile Unable to function Simply wishing to be free. © Tara India.
tara-india
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tara-india
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 6:52 PM UTC
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