A lone rope hangs from the ceiling.
I stare the noose right in the eye.
Maybe all I've ever wanted is on the other side.
Should I go through it and snap my neck?
Just close my eyes and take my last breath.
I wonder what would happen if I took all these pills?
Would they make me better by making me ill?
I'll pop them in my mouth by twos and by threes.
I'll feel the poison wash over me.
Slicing my skin is the ultimate high.
I won't hold back at all tonight.
I have a knife pressed to my wrists.
I'll cut and slice. I'll carve and twist.
It's a messed up desire, without a doubt.
But I won't stop 'til my blood runs out.
I'll fill up the bathtub and pull myself in.
I'll hide underwater. My air will run thin.
My lungs will beg me to resurface again.
But no matter the pain, I won't listen.
And just as soon as I've reached my limit,
I'll breathe in the water in hopes to end it.
A loaded pistol I hold to my head.
With my finger on the trigger, I could simply drop dead.
In less than a second I could pierce my brain.
Maybe it'll end all this suffering and pain.
A deafening bang, but it'll be quick.
Bullet in. Bullet out. It's not complicated.
What if I stood on a building so high?
I'll look at the people and cars rushing by.
Just a leap forward and I'll fall right down.
Lower and lower until I hit the ground.
Don't try to stop me now.
Just leave me be.
I hate this place.
I'll set myself free.
Will they be hurt? Shocked? Despaired?
I'm not with them now, so why should I care?
Don't stand by my grave.
Don't shed any tears.
Don't say that you loved me.
I can no longer hear.
Your kindness is useless.
I needed it when I was alive.
I don't want your fucking sympathy.
It was my choice to take the dive.
I despised this hellish reality.
It's all disappointments and lies.
But I think I'm alright now.
I found my twisted paradise.
YOU ARE READING
Broken
PoetryA collection of poems I have written while in the clutches of my demon named Depression.
