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Gathering cherished items
Tossing them into the grave
Praying upon the tombstone.
No use in apologies; a thread strayed too far from the spool,
now to be cut.
If I could return to a time before emotion,
dancing in the vast sky, a promise fulfilled,
that’ll be all I’d want.

Beneath a 15-hour sun, sounds of children at play.
Bloodied and beaten, my wrists shine in the mirror–
Staring at the skies: “This is prime time.”
Staring at my wrists: “This’ll be a crime.”
I’ve begged and begged, no light has come.
I wallow within a dark prison,
but my hand shakes
my grip breaks
I fall onto the floor.
“I can’t commit to anything.”

An unsigned contract. Chained.
They sing of joyous freedom.
Not enough, not enough,
can’t even pay up,
silent, He stares at me in scorn.
“I’m sorry…”

Childhood. Nights riddled with dissonant sounds.
Fragmented the next day with a smile–
One that nobody, not even I believe.
“Distorted cognitive dissonance!”
tossed away.
The Angel was beaten,
The Devil’s smirk pierced my vision,
Hands together, eyes closed–
He’s found his next prey.

A world after death
sung by that sweet voice.
as she tucked me in,
goosebumps at rest,
she told me of
a paradise.
“Will daddy
be there too..?”
Frozen. Shaking, she nodded,
and hurried to leave.

As day peered through
my bedroom window
I awoke to those same screams.
Verbal wars turned to complete authority,
all while
i fucking
locked myself
in my room.
Devoting myself to the Savior, I wished for hell’s end
while I didn’t do shit.

The endless sea of stars, my crimson wounds–
–they’re all I can recognize now.
Nothing but a sleeping bag and a lockpick, I’ve found myself cornered.
Being robbed blind,
I’m reduced to a penniless soul
riddled a pleasure addiction.
If even demons can be saved by the light,
then I’m something
far worse
than Satan himself.

something stops me
from picking up that gun
from drawing the blade
from tying the rope.
Pure primal instinct. I’m sweating.
Only an observer.
Can’t do anything for himself, not even this.
But when this NEED  triumphs fear,
I’ll find my body stuffed with shit
hanging above the floor.

Regret. Repent.
Blood adorning my hands. Lies staining my lips. Counterfeit cash.
Now, that blood may become my own.
prayer and apologies are disposable,
for when tainted souls are this far down
there’s no

Before a golden hour sun, the sweet illusion of silence.
Bloodied and beaten, my wrists shine in the mirror–
Staring at the skies: “This is prime time.”
Staring at my wrists: “This’ll be a crime.”
I’ve cried and cried, no angel has come.
Demons tighten their grip on my body.
One hand on the trigger, the other on my poison lifeline.

Shaking, pathetic.
They hit the floor,
and I’ve come to join them.
“I can’t commit to anything.”
Laughing in a drunken daze,

“Not even my own death.”

Published inMainOtherSorrow

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