if i kill myself tonight,
the stars will still appear.
the night will eventually end,
and the sun will rise again.
people will go about their days.
what was yesterday is tomorrow—
same routine, same life.
but if i killed myself tonight,
what friends, what family
will i be invisible to as
they stand by my grave,
perplexed by their emotions,
resentful of me for leaving,
but begging for me to return?
if i pack my bags and leave,
the stars will still appear.
the night will eventually end,
and the sun will rise again.
people will go about their days.
what was yesterday is tomorrow—
same routine, same life.
but if i pack my bags and leave,
who will cry for me whilst they
stare at the moon and the stars,
cursing deities and those
who weren't bothered to care
until i'm too far gone
to be coaxed into coming back?
the desire to be
loved, cherished;
the desire to finally
be enough for someone,
and the wish to be you,
is what keeps me on
this lonely floating rock.
YOU ARE READING
Pleasure or Pain? (Poetry)
PoetryI call this my book of chaos; my sanctuary. When the turmoil inside of me resurfaces, when I've surpassed my tipping point, putting my jumbled thoughts and conflictions into words gives back the control I initially lost.
