- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Slow Death
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Click hereeach day i die a lil more inside
running from my own existence, trying to hide
nowhere can i find just a moments peace
silly me thinking that the drama would cease
turbulent is what i would say to describe my life
missing the feeling of cold steel as i stare at the knife
just one lil nick and i will be just right as rain
so i can find my focus hidden beneath the pain
that first burning sensation grips me tight
but i don’t think it will hold me through the night
maybe one more cut, yeah that should suffice
so i open my flesh, not once but twice
waiting impatiently for that tell-tell release
but i am finding no escape from my grief
no matter how many times the razors edge may touch my skin
i can’t seem to banish these demons within
scream as i may, they go unanswered because they are unheard
i can hear my own voice, but no one else can hear a word
I am in this fight alone with not a soul who can comprehend
i am so tired of hearing "you can always call on a friend"
you can’t even fathom how much this kills me inside
to know that my soul screams it wished it died
but death is a journey I am not ready to undergo
so in the immortal words "I’ll go with the flow"
hope against hope that one day i will know a semblance of peace
but that day may only come once i am deceased
silence these voices that reside in my head
telling me daily, i am better off dead
i pray to the Gods and Goddesses to favor me and be kind
for this child of the ancients is slowly losing his mind
- COMMENTS
KOLKOREabout 16 years agoVery believable with the clinical precision of the details reporting of insurmountable pain, threatening to get out of hand. I had the experience of sitting at the other side of the line sharing with each of the callers the anxiety, the desperation the pain, trying to hold together the line to life, praying for a momentary relief. In poems like this I find myself wondering along the same lines, about the mind behind the writing, is he/she doing right? Is the pain still as bad? It almost feels immoral to look for the aesthetic forms, images showing vs. telling and such. There could be more of those, but they seem secondary here.
