There I am.
Standing at the edges of oblivion.
No thought.
No sound.
Just the still beat of my own heart.
The desire to jump into the void of self.
To let myself drown in its sweet embrace.
To fall, the unending falling that wraps me in the embrace of silence.
The silence where I have made my home.
Alone. With no friends.
Here I stand looking downward into the swirling abyss of all the pain that molded me.
I wonder if anyone would stop me from jumping...
Would anyone really miss me if I left the cliff side.
Would any shroud or sliver of my presence seep out of their minds like oil on top of water.
Never sinking.
Would the very idea of me.
Fade.
Fade like that of the mist in the peak hours of the dawn.
When morning strikes. I am. Gone.
Would their passing lives question the ghost that decided to hang on longer?
Am I just the passing train you have just barely missed because you decided to stop for coffee on a Tuesday morning?
Am I the whisper of a thought ...?
an idea you think but never draw. A book unopened.
Tucked in the corners of the Vatican. I am at it again, wishing to vanish.
To leave to ghost.
To leave all the care behind and witness protection my soul.
To wrap darkness around me and never leave home.
The breath of my words is only merely an illusion.
I am not here,
I don't exist, I am but a figment of your imagination.
I don't exist beyond the happenstance of thought.
I am beyond anything that anyone will ever think of.
I am the ocean, Deep. Unheard of, and unknown.
My presence could fade for weeks... months... years.
No tears would fall, no questions would be asked,
no thought of me would last beyond "She's fine," But that is a fine line of a lie.
Because I'm not fine, I've never been fine.
I've only existed in the solemn silence in the pain that made me scream.
Anger is all I ever knew. but the ghost would never rage.
I am used to the cage and its walls.
I am used to the lingering hallways and deep-seated regrets,
I am nothing but a ... waste... a has been.
An echo of a voice long forgotten.
To let myself fall into the darkness of oblivion and retreat.
So close to falling off the cliff,
so close to jumping and flying,
So close to making it to the perceived "other side" of life,
But if I fall, I know I will at least be welcomed by the darkness.
YOU ARE READING
Ona Aria's Poetry Collection (2022-2024)
PoetryThe 4th or 5th Poetry book that I have made on here since dealing with life and how I cope with things. Poetry Spoken Word has helped immensely with trying to get out what my soul needs to say. It's been the most therapeutic coping mech that I have.
