"paramedics" poems
ground zero
i become aware of boundaries
i am a dog chasing cars
i sing your voicemail to sleep
there are no surgeon general warnings
to tell me that
*the objects in the mirror
are more depressed than they appear*
so how do i tell you
that there are parts of my life
that move slower
without you in them?
or that i look for you every day
in emails & unanswered calls
in the sunrises
i didn't choose to be awake to watch
that i sometimes still stare at doorways hoping you would walk through them
stage 1 you tell your new lover you've got a splinter and they pull the sound of your body falling asleep on mine out of your fingertip
stage 2 your new lover says something at dinner that makes you choke so they call 911 & the paramedics do the hymleich not knowing you would ***** our promises all over the the restaurant
stage 3 your new lover surprises you by cleaning the house & washes the shirt you kept next to the bed, not knowing it was the last thing you had that smelled like me
after
people always ask
what was loving her like?
after a really long silence
i just say
"it must be nice"
but i never say
it's watching paint dry
i never say
it's a window seat in hell
i don't tell anyone
about the dreams
where i am reading you
bedtime stories
each one is a different way you die
& every time i can never save you
dreams where what i think
are angels in my bedroom
are just homeless versions
of myself you never loved
i have dreams
where i pay someone to shoot me
just to see if you would cry
just to see
if you would cradle my body
i don't tell people
that loving you is like
playing piano
for someone who can't hear
that it's hitting repeat
on my favorite song
& forgetting the words
every time it starts over
that it's finding out
there's no milk after you already
poured yourself a bowl of cereal
it's getting locked in the dark
& being told to
look on the bright side
that loving you is like
being reminded of what it felt like
the first time
you accidentally let go
of a balloon as a child
it's drowning without the water
it's the feeling you get
when you start to dance
& the song ends
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
do you ever wonder
about the difference between
looking at something
and the hallucination created
when looking past it?
if you look at your hand
it's all you can see
but if you look past your hand
there are now two of them
sometimes it's hard for me
to remember which is real
it gets me thinking
about how my father
used to wake me up
in the morning by rubbing
his stubble across my face
i spent my 11th birthday
under the assumption
that he might come back
if i drank his aftershave
like maybe if i could turn blue
if i could be his favorite color
on our bathroom floor
he would forget why he left
the paramedics were all sobing
as they pumped memories
out of my stomach
i coughed up the day the post-it note with your new address on it
burned a hole in our refrigerator
coughed up the day
the divorce papers came
and my mother
took a baseball bat to the mailbox
i've been choking on the splinters
for 17 years
it's been 17 years
since the last dinner plate
exploded on our dining room wall
17 years since my mother
started accidentally setting your place at the dinner table
17 years since italian night
at the restaurant on the corner
where the juke box
spat tired music
and like so many other things
it stopped working when you left
i guess it's no coincidence
since the juke box went quiet
that the cds in my car
only skip on "i miss you"
i've been hemorrhaging memories
for so long
and now that i'm looking back
i can no longer tell
the mirage from the truth
sometimes i swear
you showed up to my graduation
and last time
i was at your apartment
i can't remember
if the imprints of my hands
are in clay hanging on your wall
or if they were left in the mud
the day god had the audacity
to let it rain
or maybe it's like the time
i saw someone crying on a bridge
now that i think about it
i can't remember if it was me
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
How horrible it was
to wake up to your cries for help.
I came to find you had fallen,
your oxygen disconnected,
the clear tubes lying in a tangle
on your bedroom floor.
At first, you had been conscious,
your beautiful brown eyes looked up at me pleadingly,
and then you were gone.
I was alone and terrified,
having dealt with this before
I couldn’t say it was anything new,
but this time was different than the script of
past events.
Wishing I could escape like a bird in flight,
I knew I had no power to save you,
The harsh truth of my reality
suffocated me. My walls closing in
as I realized what was happening
in this moment.
Prior to this,
you had always made it to the hospital alright,
arguing with paramedics,
but this time,
you were motionless and cold.
I’ll never forget the blue stillness of your lips,
or the way the light left your eyes
as you departed the material world
and finally found peace in eternal rest.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 7:24 PM UTC
Colorful, tasty
Sticky swirls, canes, and powders
Make the tongue delight.
Ambulance, paramedics
Diabetic coma; sigh
Dec 30, 2009
Dec 30, 2009 at 12:50 PM UTC
I could inject a gram of you
straight into my veins.
And when the paramedics arrive,
to find me incoherent,
half dead in a pool of my own waste,
your name will still be on
the tip of my tongue.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
Life is like a suicide hike,
Although it's a beautiful trail
It's scary to think one day we'll fall.
We fall because we walk on edges,
Some worth walking on, some not.
Ultimately, we learn from both.
Be careful who you choose to walk with,
Be careful who you choose to sit with.
Because they may just push you off
And way down you'll be falling down.
But sometimes it wasn't them who pushed you off
But it was them you thought would help you up.
And when we've hit our lowest point in life
We start looking for the root of our pain,
But it's dark and empty, it stings we feel lost.
It's no paradise down here, the pain feeds on our strength.
It's a tragic accident that breaks all of our bones.
With no paramedics or anesthesia, we've got to operate ourselves.
We don't know which injury is killing us more,
But we know a slow death is coming for us.
Our blood no more, regret is what the heart pumps now,
We scream and cry away our mistakes
But down here is a curse playing our fall in a loop,
I don't know when it stops
I'm drowning myself in my pain.
I've stained my soul with too much hate
I'm no longer the person who I used to be.
I've been down in the dark for too many days
But when I start my hike again
I hope to go further than yesterday.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 1:56 PM UTC
Before our Moon
dips below
the romantic
horizon
I'll swing you
around
with such
affectionate
torque
that
paramedics
will need
the Jaws of Life
to extricate us
one
from
the other.
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 6:37 PM UTC
when I am writing I want to tell a story. sometimes thoses stories are not what the mind wants to read. but I want the heart to be forced to feel.
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paramedic 1: "young girl age 17, fought out to be, way more then she was meant to be"
silence fills the ambulance
paramedic 2: "has a few open wounds around the eyes, mouth and even missing a tooth"
the girl moves her finger
paramedic 1: "it's a sign"
paramedic 2: "yeah she's breathing but that doesn't mean she's alive, you can tell by her eyes. she has lost her sparkel".
paramedic 1: "she must have been here before cause she's fighting, even when she's already gone....she's still trying".
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Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
September.
remember,
back in school
being seniors
meant we had rule.
we were on top
and nothing
would make us stop.
but that didn't mean
i didnt have deep secrets
in my dreams.
school had just begun
back when we still
had the sun.
but i had clouds closing in
thought i didn't tell a soul.
so i began my journey
into the deep, dark, hole.
October.
remember, when the days grew dark so fast.
but that didn't stop others from having a blast.
when i was asked to go,
i always said no.
because when the sun set,
that reminder became a threat.
i was busy
gathering what i need
to carry out my
one
last
final
deed.
November.
remember.
remember november?
i know you do.
i know you wish it wasn't true.
i know you wish i could make it undo.
but don't you see,
what people do or say
really does hurt me.
if you already know that,
why did you call me fat?
if you already knew i was sad,
why did you save what you had?
if you dont know why,
why did you let me die?
remember?
back in november?
sunday night
to
monday morning.
my heart stopped beating.
happy 18th, baby girl.
watch your blood swirl.
onto the floor
or down the drain.
outside her window,
it rained, and rained, and rained.
3 empty bottles by her bed.
mother's hands holding her head.
paramedics write it off
as suicide;
her own hands
is how she died.
now,
i know you remember.
back to december.
seniors you were,
but everything became
a sudden blur.
all the tears,
being blinked away.
wishing i could have stayed.
now that i'm gone,
you finally realize
what you had ll along.
even though you're too late,
you'll treat this matter
with more weight.
i wish you knew
before monday morning,
at 12:02.
september began.
october started to show.
november held all the signs.
december you are undermined.
remember how you felt
back in december?
feelings of then
will teach you
when it happens again.
so please,
learn from my death and me.
save the one for whose life
can be foreseen.
and lastly,
make me a promise,
never
ever
forget.
always
remember
december.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 6:28 PM UTC
Mama woke me up
She embraced me sobbing and
stumbled down the stairs
in my arms, and I
stumbled down the stairs
in her arms, to daddy
in the kitchen, arms around each other
we were crying
but I had to go back, see
how I was
breathless on my bed
still warm
as if I was asleep, oh
you are thirteen
don't go, stay
here with me
Paramedics arrived
They put me in a bag
and carried me away
leaving me behind
Apr 12, 2023
Apr 12, 2023 at 3:54 AM UTC
The rooster swivels on its axis returning
coarse wind into the pyre of mad, mad tongues
raving alongside charred ivory. Lifted by sorry hands
from dying embers’ embrace and eased with foreign pity,
ceremoniously, into a cardboard crate wheeled against
the traffic, stumbling backwards through yellow canvases,
between my family dressed in black, to dress the void (deck),
mourners spitting soda into their cups, as word paddle upstream,
onto a thin futon within four walls stained with unfinished ghosts.
The doctor removes the white shroud like God coaxing pink light
on the first day and wine oozes through elastic veins to the far corners of my skin thin ventricular walls. One crack, in the doors and in my chest, paramedics in white blur in, heel first,
Pan-island couriers on reverse gear to the corner
of a numbered street, where I am delivered like a gladiator
thrown into the arena of nosy gazes, with the urgency of
hens clucking away from premeditated slaughter:
deep Christmas red on the tessellated parking lot.
Clumsy thumbs dialing 599, I moan inwardly
to the concentric circles of strangers retreating, erasing
me from cell-phone cameras. Then like a flip animation I
snap backwards, up 21 floors,
pause for about an hour on the ledge before smashing
backwards, back down, past kids scratching graffiti off the cement
and growing cigarettes in their mouths. The rain ascends and I take
wet cash from the driver while I fidget on the leather and throw up
mediocre coffee into my cup. I dig into my throat and return the bread
to its plastic bag and when the cab stops I fall left out onto another parking lot,
moonwalk up the stairs to where I unwrite my name in the
annals of failure and
shove the Fs of my past back
then
I take the bus instead.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 3:24 AM UTC
Paramedic 1:
"He's losing so much blood."
Paramedic 2:
"It's a miracle if he can make it past this."
*Saturday night, and I'm in the back of an ambulance,
But not in soul, just in body, oh and in the company of so many wires,
I can't tell where they end and where I begin,
But the paramedics say there was a tragic accident and some flying tires.
We reach the ER, my stretcher is flying on the white tiles,
And soon enough I'm greeted by more wires than I can count,
They're saying that they want to hear my heart,
So I'm opened up past layers of tissues and my heartbeat is playing aloud.
I'm somewhere in a circus, learning how to walk on a tightrope,
One arm on the verge of life, the other on the verge on death,
And my feet are stronger than they've ever been,
I'm not afraid of the fall, I'm afraid they'll see the mark I've had since birth.
And they do, I see it in the face of those people wearing white scrubs,
Their faces become the color of their operating room attire,
They don't know what to do with me,
As they come to realize what's got me here is not the flying tires.
They see my heart, a land that is home to no one,
Yet a massacre is taking place between the northerns and the southerns,
A border holding together the mismatched territories,
But there is no compromising between two armies this stubborn.
Each side wanting to flood the other, wanting to conquer,
And the small canal that was once an uncharted place of peace,
Is now holding a rowing contest to the mind of the victim - me -
Who will reach it first and incorporate their power with claws and teeth...?
It was the time to surrender, ending all attempts at making amends,
And watch cannibals sailing in rivers of blood,
They think each accelerated beat is a new victory,
Yet it was a far away cry from it, it was a new tear, a new cut.
And when each side invades the other, they claim it as their own,
But they are only emigrants thinking they can reconstruct a desert,
It was only a land of chaos, they themselves have caused,
Where was once life flowing in veins, is now where resources are tethered.
And with no winner, the end approached,
The curtains already sweeping the ground,
Doctors wiping sweat from their foreheads,
Letting the hospital gown cover the battleground.*
Paramedic 2:
"Maybe there's a wife we can call, to you know ... deliver the news..."
Paramedic 1:
"It appears, he just went out for a drive in the middle of the night, with no phone or ID... not even his driver's license..."
Paramedic 2:
"Maybe it wasn't even his car..."
THE END
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
Falling into a deep abyss
flames coming from every surface
Reaching out to feel the heat.
It doesn't burn you.
It holds your hands
It helps pull you back to the surface.
Someone is up top saying
"Come back home this is not where you belong!"
With open arms your family and a few of your closest friends.
Holds on to you tight.
Something keeps pulling you higher and higher.
Who....
Why....
You want to stay right where you are...
You go higher and higher.
You look down..
You realize
there is no going back for you.
Paramedics everywhere
Your family crying around your dead body
Wondering why you did this to yourself...
You're finally free
Free from all the pain.
Free from all the hate
You're free
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 9:38 AM UTC
Mr. Poet Guy
There was a time, not so long ago,
lived a man you all very well know.
Walking down the street one afternoon,
it was a bright sunny day in June.
Came across a man so mean,
what happened next was quite the scene.
Pulled out a gun and shot me dead,
one single bullet into my very head.
That's the day the poet died,
all over the world people cried.
Singing bye-bye Mr. Poet Guy,
paramedics tried, but with tears in eye.
As the police drew their white chalk line,
my soul escaped, you can see the incline.
The paramedics tried with all their might,
I was so dead, couldn't put up a fight.
Singing bye-bye Mr. Poet Guy,
paramedics tried, but with tears in eye.
They drove me hearse to the levy,
blood drained out and body was dry,
singing this will be the day that he die.
Thousands of people came from every state,
please don't mourn, just celebrate.
They never did find the man in question,
millions of people, now in depression.
Maybe he works for the C.I.A,
if he's caught, what would he say.
Listen Judge, does it really matter,
he deserved that brain splatter.
Singing bye-bye Mr. Poet Guy,
paramedics tried, but with tears in eye,
singing this will be the day that he die.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC
The sirens blared that 4th of July
Officer Duncan gave Mammy a ride
An emergency dash to the hospital
He’s 2 months premature Mammy cried
Deaf, dumb and blind is what the doctors said
To our mother when Sammy was born
But none of us kids ever were told
Until Sammy was stable and grown
Pappy declared that they’d both be fine
Not believing dire news doctors gave
We happily named him Uncle Sam
Trusting in him to be strong and brave
His 1st 5 months in an incubator
Hooked up to every device
In Newton Wellesley Hospital, 1959
A miracle saved his life
Reaching gloved hands through holes in the side
Weighing just a bit over 2 pounds
Looking more like a spindly ET
I was amazed to be hearing breath sounds
Sam worked on doubling his weight by Christmas
Nothing seemed easy or fast
Still Mammy survived the eclampsia
And Sammy went home at last
Returning a few years later
Sammy’s doctor she would find
To show off to all the nurses
Her son NOT deaf, dumb and blind
I so love my brother Sammy
Always felt like a sister and mother
I’d give all I have for the time
Just a minute more with my dear brother
I’d speak to you of those 57 years
Of the great whirligig you carved with your hands
All the times you showed up for me
Through the good and the bad our love stands
You wasted no time hating anybody
Children and dogs always your friends
Quick for a laugh despite any lack
I draw comfort that all your pain ends
The sirens blared once again for you
The ambulance came, the paramedics tried
Racing you trying to save you
All in vain, in the OR you died
Like Tommy’s rock opera is over
Perhaps you paused to speak to a stray dog
While keeping your divine appointment
By reaching right into the hand of God
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 9:12 PM UTC
These dark thoughts
will destroy me-
ice too thin,
beneath shattered-glass steps.
Desperate schemes conspire
to employ me;
paramedics
fathom the depths
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 10:41 PM UTC
I watched.
As the color faded from your eyes.
As the blood left your cheeks.
I watched.
I watched.
Like a man selling flowers at a corner
Waiting for the streetlight to turn red,
I watched.
I cried.
As I sat there waiting for paramedics.
As I felt the warmth leave your body.
I cried.
I cried.
Like parents in a hospital waiting room
As the doctor delivers bad news.
I cried.
I waited.
As the sounds of sirens cut through the air.
As they covered your face in that white blanket.
I waited.
I waited.
Like an ice cream vendor
Who waits for the last school bell to ring.
I waited.
And I hate that all I did was watch, cry, and wait.
As I watch you dance and run around in my head.
As I cry myself to sleep on this now empty bed.
As I wait to feel your warmth, but feel the cold instead.
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 10:26 PM UTC
Was watching Disney's The Lion King on VHS
Got it from the thrift store for a dollar
When it started up
It was halfway through
That realization made me wonder
Someone somewhere started this movie
But they never finished it
They stopped it
Took it out of their VCR
They never picked it up again
Except to pack it in a box of old forgotten things
I wonder what made them stop it
Was it a child who went to play outside with his friends?
And when he returned
Was he grown with no desire to be a child again?
Did he find a better movie to watch?
Or did he find the movie boring and never bothered with it again?
Was it a Mother watching it while feeding her baby?
Did she leave to get more food?
And while she was out
Did she come across the new and improved DVD player?
Did she find it on sale and thought it must be better than VHS?
Maybe it was an old man reliving an easier day when he was younger
Was it the last movie he watched
Before the paramedics stopped it
And took him away to his final resting place?
Was it his daughter who took it out of the VCR
Placed it carefully in its casing
Put it with all the other VHS tapes she found in an old box
Gave that box to the thrift shop
Where I inevitably found it and brought it home
Why was this VHS forgotten?
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 5:38 PM UTC
Sitting here, thinking about death, about which death to choose, about which passing of time to write about. I am sweating, like, hold your breath or die sweat. It is hot here, but it isn't the temperature that is making my glands leak, it is the memories, it is the death grip that takes my heart when i remember, when i write about life leaving, silence stealing from the night.
Heroine. She's a tuff-tender ***** with soft sleepy skin, the daughter of Morpheus, who takes your breath and holds it inside you. Somniferous, She likes to sit alongside you while you die, she holds your hand and whispers in your ear, allaying fear and slowly she wraps her fingers around your lungs. So tired, of this world, of this life; you think, i'll just close my eyes, nothing new about being on the nod, nothing strange about this tiredness that follows a quick projectile puke in the gutter.
Let sleeping dogs lie.
Writing about Overdosing. It is a strange thing, a quick story, one minute your blinking, nodding, often murmuring, then asleep.
Lucky the dog who runs in a pack.
Lucky the man who walks with strangers by his side.
I don't remember much of what happened before i closed my eyes.
A shot, pin ***** relief, then, quickly/slowly/gone. It is night out, with a dark and steady sky, I am watching the stars through slitted eyes and loving my life, loving my wife; ****** how she makes my heart sing. I am glad to be far from withdrawing, i am happy to be in sin with my lovers, stainless steel turemo picks.
It is my first blast for the night and apparently my last.
There is no warning, no red flag that appears in my minds eye. Just silence and a world fading away. A heartbeat disappearing. Short shallow breath and a small niggling concern that soon will come the time when i am not high then...
I am going. I am gone. I have died.
The strangest thing about dying is not dying. The hardest thing about it all is waking up and realising you were finally gone, you were finally done with the rigmorale, the procedure, of living, of life. You had reached the ultimate goodbye. And now you are back. Still high but not high enough to be faced with the living. Narcan gives your lungs back, it breathes back into you what She stole away. Wanting more then ever to ***** but not wanting to puke on the paramedics lap. Fear of police and reprisal, anxiety soars high on the agenda of the recently revived. A trip the hospital, a free ride, then signing out early, i have shots to blast, a past to wipe out, a life to live or die trying.
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 5:01 PM UTC
i like to write about the way a bag of fentanyl with a big letter "H" on the front tastes like
i like to write about coming home to my wife crying on the steps as the paramedics drag my best friend's body out of my house
i like remembering the way my heart sounded just like 15 cops pounding on my front door
i can't tell if i'm swallowing back bile or guilt anymore
i can't tell if burning all the needles in my drawer was a sign that i'm moving on or denial of what I've done
i hate thinking about my friend with blue lips
last time i saw him he was snorting back three hundred dollars without blinking
he says he doesn't really get out of bed anymore
I know exactly what he means
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC
an awful tragedy
did befall her
twas a most
unexpected thing
three bullets
struck her in the head
the paramedics
couldn't save her
they did their best
but the death knell
determined that she must expire
they wheeled
her tepid body
into the freezing cold morgue
twas a sad day
for her family and friends
yet those
who she'd gravely hurt
wouldn't agree
they rejoiced
in her meeting
with tragedy
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
I think trauma is a strange word.
I was probably twelve or thirteen when I first heard it - oh yeah, it's when you get really hurt, right?
Blood and guts everywhere.
Thank goodness that doctors exist.
They can patch you up and make you whole again.
"Incoming trauma! All hands on deck!"
I think it's a strange word because, supposedly, trauma is what happened to me. But that can't be right, can it?
I imagine myself being rolled into a hospital on a stretcher, doctors and nurses taking me from paramedics.
"Eighteen year old female suffering from internal cardiovascular and neuro injuries. Speech and sight is impaired."
I'm okay. What are you talking about? All I did was love two people.
"Injuries are consistent with loving parents that don't love you in return."
Wait, what? No, my parents love me!
My dad likes to drink sometimes but at least he doesn't act unpredictable anymore when I suggest he go to bed.
Well, there was that one time he fell down the stairs. Also the time he peed on me while I was sleeping because he believed my room was the bathroom.
But my mom is okay! She likes to leave a lot and there were those times she had loud *** with strangers in the room next to mine late at night. But she's good, I swear. Even when she had chlamydia and I held her while she cried.
Even when she left and never came back.
"I need a crash cart in here! Patient is bleeding out and her blood pressure is dropping - "
I'm fine, I swear.
All I did was love them.
Wait, hang on!
What about that time my parents argued and my dad tried to choke my mom to death?
I mean...I did run away from the house, crying, to find our neighbor.
I did beg her to call the police.
But that's not trauma, right?
I just wanted them to stop yelling. I just wanted him to let her go before she stopped breathing.
That's love.
"Paddles, please! Charge to three hundred..."
"Clear!"
These doctors really don't know anything.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 5:24 AM UTC
Dennis was a citizen
A denizen, a resident
Of somewhere near a motorway
A hideaway most opulent
Ensnared amid the railway
And trail ways for motorcars
A haven from the modern day
The takeaways and trendy bars
But shattered in the summer morn
His rest was torn by hammering
Invading what was once inert
So to his curtains clamouring
He banished each to either side
He threw them wide with knuckles white
And saw in front of his abode
Across the road, a building site
A certainty within his mind
Did slowly wind his purpose tight
And with a grim determined jaw
Across the floor he took to flight
Descending stairs without a care
His morning hair resembling
A dandelion set to seed
In need of disassembling
He strode across his dining room
And snatched a broom which lay by chance
Against the table by the door
And held before him like a lance
He mounted his beloved bike
A cycle like no other made
And on a builder set his sight
With all his might and unafraid
He charged his foe at quite a rush
And with his brush, the builder smote
And leaping from his trusty steed
He did proceed to stop and gloat
Before resuming in his spate
The builders mate did turn and run
To raise the dragon, JCB
It roared with glee and wheels spun
So Dennis, though his ears resound
With just the pound of noble heart
Did firmly stand and face the beast
His brow was creased and feet apart
He struck the creature savagely
And stubbornly with just his head
And that, according to the news
Was what the paramedics said
The End
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 6:30 AM UTC
they think it's all fun and games
they laugh at her, call her names
spit on her and pull her hair
she just wants somebody to care
she cannot understand why
they push her down and make her cry
is it because she's different, and they're all the same?
she lets the tears fall and hides her head in shame
they see cuts on her arms, call her a freak
and she's too scared to speak
to stand up for herself, she'd be standing alone
she wants to disappear, to just be gone
the house is quiet but the pain is loud
she'll never be part of the popular crowd
and they will torment her day after day
it's time for her to just go away
so she leaves a note on her bedroom door
saying she's sorry she can't do this anymore
she's been thinking for a while, had this carefully planned
a glass of water, empty pill bottles crowding up her nightstand
no one knew that this pain ran so deep
when her only wish was to just go to sleep
ambulance & police lights flashing outside
secrets uncovered, things she tried to hide
were brought to light
as paramedics willed her to fight
they brought her back, felt her beating heart
and she knew this was when the healing would start
because she could never be that girl again
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
Darkness engulfs me
Echoing screams penetrates my soul
I feel nothing, emptiness surrounds me
Suspended in place by the energies of the abyss
Something pulled me…
Pulling harder and harder
I can’t control this force
Pulling so violently
With a flash of light I gasp for air…
My vision blurry at first clears
Paramedics...
Have brought me back to life
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 1:39 PM UTC