Poetry Wednesday

Not Even Close

Like a shot in the dark — A suicidal poem

Like an itch to scratch, I was looking for something to lose. Ten years living in my own hell. Depression was my prison, now free, I am doing time as my personality did not escape with me. Anxiety follows me like a searchlight, and I am abandoned incomplete by the hope that unshackled me.

A ten-year hunger to step back inside. To believing all is will be fine. But I got pulled apart to a disagreeable recombine.

Awaked to be weakened by the limits that would kill us all. Giving blood to help me bleed some more.

Demand a showing of gratitude, or the executioner will kick the chair. With a wave goodbye as I swing in the air.

Resuscitate the demons in my head and judge me for what they have said. My time and sanity in pieces as my soul bides farewell.

I was on the road to nowhere, far from life in danger. Pointing the finger at the blame and it points right back at me.

I can only progress with disappointment or drown in the venom of hatred. As I am not worth reviving, my final stand is unable to line up with the rest. Freedom from depression is simply a different prison. I have lost my will to say hello. So, this is goodbye.