I do not want to be here.
It's odd to say it out loud,
How I feel.
I want to be free of myself.
Of my own breath.
If I slid a knife through my wrist,
Vertical,
Vein splitting deep.
I'd feel my abyss become a clear picture,
Of peace and serenity.
Like waves,
Like the blood trickling down my arm,
In puddles.
I would be at ease,
Like I was sitting out at sea.
If I threw myself into the ocean,
With rocks as heavy as boulders,
Attached to my ankles,
So that I could sink.
I would feel my breath,
Finally escape my chest.
I'd feel my soul slowly drift out of my,
Less than whole body.
And as I drift I would watch my body sink,
With a smile resting on my face.
And my eyes reflecting no life,
No light.
If I rammed my car into a tree full force.
If I ran it through the opposite end of traffic,
Through a truck,
A wall,
I would instantly feel gratification.
With an instant death.
I would feel patient enough to feel the pain,
Of my neck snapping if I launched myself,
Off a chair.
With a noose around my neck,
I would feel the blood rush to my head,
And my veins pump,
Until they didn't pump nothing but lead.
My body swayed,
An instant neck snap,
Has me drifting away to somewhere,
That is not here.
I do not want to be here.
Beware,
For I might just disappear.
YOU ARE READING
Dim.
PoetryTired of trying to be everything. Trying to be perfect. Wrong paths and wrong people and missed opportunities. Am I letting my mental illness take over my life? A look into the mind of a BPD, Anxiety ridden woman. With no identity but her Panic. W...
