1of16 poem series that I wrote in the perspective of a friend that committed suicide |
What is the point of living on? What is the point when hope is gone? My life has become nothing but shit but every time I try to quit somebody comes and pulls me free a purpose to life they promise me but it is always just a lie that gives me more reason to want to die. At this hour I face a grave choice to decide to wait to hear the voice of the one who will give me purpose, one who will always keep me close, whose caress I will not have to miss because they will keep that fatal promise to stay by my side in the darkness at every step including the hardest. Or maybe I should put out my light, let myself be taken to flight, to be taken into Death's embrace so this world I won't have to face so I can forget my purposeless life. This I think as I stare down this knife. Should I sheath this knife and wait for my one? Or turn it on myself and end this run? I think I should keep my life for now keep from putting out my faint glow. Maybe she's just around the bend till then I'll just have to pretend that my one is right by my side, that when I look she will not her face hide. I'm sure that's why I'm still here and hope I've made this perfectly clear. |