As the darkness surrounds me in this little pit of insanity
I started to think what might be the most abominable and iniquitous of imaginings
"Does cyanide taste good?"
I don't' know if it was because I lost my sanity ages ago
Or because the thorns inside me twisted me thoughts
Or because I've been craving for affection for eternity
But I started to wonder what cyanide tastes like
Would it taste good? I'm assuming that it is
After all, it could free me from this rotting prison
It must taste comforting and warming
Though it hand a little prick of pain in me
In my eyes, it's a price I'm willing to pay
If I have to feel bleeding inside me,
just for a taste of heaven, it's worth it
I held the cyanide in my hand as the sky cries for me again
The golden liquid shines through the tiny glass bottle
I took the lid off with caution and a hint of regret
As I closed my eyes, I put the lips of the bottle near mine, and raised it
only to find that I couldn't, something in me is stopping this act of freedom that I myself wished for
I didn't know what it was, but it was stopping me. I was less than an inch close into entering heaven
but it looks like God is forbidding me so. How unfortunate for me
Yet again, I am forbidden into acquiring what I desired
What will it take to free me from this?
YOU ARE READING
Reflections- a series of poems
PoesíaTreat this like a mirror. An apparatus that gazes into the porcelain smiles we all wear every day. These poems are as cluttered and disorganized as that of the emotions we keep to ourselves, and to ourselves alone
