We have souls that are plunging off this planet,
in hopes they will be swallowed by the cosmos-
fearing the hurt is never ending,
leads to renovations of existence.
To silence the beating
of a heart,
to end a life.
Morality is stuck behind
the gates of purgatory
& society is too scared of
what will happen
if we use our mouths for
A tourniquet can stop the bleeding,
but can’t do justice for spread of infection,
or the scar serving as a reminder.
People are dying from depression-
faulty chemistry in the brain.
As well as suicide.
It is the crying of phantoms,
never to be heard-
of the contorted humanity
we proudly call ”life”
Ache that’s carried lifelong,
but never resolved.
those vague questions
don’t save lives.
Death knows this,
He is an omniscient force
lingering in the scenery.
Possessing the inability
to tolerate the teasing
and the wagers.
Coming to collect early
because, we’ve begun
Darkness makes him feel welcome
Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in America. Not OK.
taste the metal on your tounge
you are singing a death song
stop firing your word bullets
for they do not all wear vests
stop asking how does this feel
if it is made up or real
pain does not need evidence
for tragedy has no face
please hush your judgement for now
listen and take it in slow
after,tell me,tell me then
things are always what they seem:
silences that are too loud
drowning the beats of our hearts
wounds that are not surface deep
shadows robbing us of sleep
look,there are monsters that feed
on us,not just under beds
even while in broad daylight
even when we seem alive
they all suffer a slow death
the end—they meet like their fate
only here they still remain
their bodies numb to the pain
I drowned a little yesterday,
The big brown eyes invited me to swim.
I caught my breath and dove in,
My knees weakened by the clash of red and black.
Tensed and ready for the onslaught,
I placed all my trust in the youthful face.
Expecting nothing but the world to be put to rights.
A little release, soft yet painful.
Like removing a splinter but leaving the cut.
Will I heal over the cut like always?
Will she dig it out and cut deeper to heal better?
Therapy is not for the weak,
But living is.
First CBT session yesterday, went well?
— The End —