Poems for the Brave

Slow Suicide

This has been a rash decision.
A rash decision that's taken me years to decide.
But now I am busy working on my slow suicide,
A spectacular vision
Intuition of the finest.
If I can kill myself slowly, and magnificently,
Then all that time you spent, shaping me until my spirit was bent; will never be worthwhile
Spring, April, one month after.
I stand outside, exposed like a reopened wound,
I take a long drag of my cigarette, heavily.
I enjoy the smoke in my lungs, knowing that it's killing me
It's just something that I do.
Tonight the liquor will seep through my throat like fire,
Just like every time we slept together
I'd do one shot, then two, just so I could see the night through.
Now I will drink until I die
And I hope that death is kind, and loving
I hope it silences the voices in my mind,
The hands on my skin
The emptiness within.
You were never kind... I think about
Train tracks. But that's too quick, too sudden,
Not enough time to feel it happen.
I want chemicals in my lungs and my hair bright colours,
I want to crumble like ash
And glow like an ember.
Slow suicide... now that is kind.
You tore me open and I want you to see me fall
And I will fall magnificently, just watch;
Though you are a coward who wouldn't look at all.
I ingest pills which look like snowdrops in a bottle.
They lift my tired feet up and up into the clouds
Wildflowers in my hair I weep and fly around,
Then I fall downwards.
Slowly, I am killing me.
But I want it to happen now.

//Both life and death are calling me, I just don't know which one to listen to anymore.//