| » Poem: stains |
stains
written by SilentScreamsofDeath08:49 AM 2/20/05Did you ever look at the gleaming edge of a blade and think to yourself, it won't hurt, maybe just a little. Maybe like I'm pinching myself. A small price to pay for the end of pain that continues on, without end, without fulfillment, without hope. Three seconds, it couldn't take much longer than that, maybe four, then all that pain would slowly drain away, gee I hope I don't stain the carpet.
You know, it can't be so bad, it couldn't hurt that much. It's really easy enough to handle, I'm fine. I suppose I'll survive, that would be ironic. Hey! I'll bet that it's cleaner, and faster too, only have to do that once... Just pull it, and it's done. I hope they won't be mad, what am I saying, they don't care, of course they'll be mad. I'll fucking stain the carpet if I damn well please too.
I wonder if I can tie that knot. I heard that it's really fast, and even cleaner. I wonder if I can find something high enough to tie on to. Maybe that branch in the backyard. But, wait a minute, that wouldn't make a mess. And I fucking want to stain the fucking carpet.
Aww shit. I dropped my grape juice, and damnit, I stained the carpet. |
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Author's footnotes and comments on this Poem:
The darkness is death - we can speak, but we are not heard. We can scream but they turn their backs. We can run, but we cannot catch them. It is the dream where arms and legs won't work they way they should, and the air is too thick to breathe. Loved ones walk a mile ahead, forgetting to stop as we fall behind. This is the reality of the darkness. We are buried alive inside ourselves. "
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| » Comments / Feedback | by mishy0077 (2-20-2005 - 08:51 AM)
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