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I yearn for death in the small of my back,

Every crack in my bones ache for the pain. 

I crave the feeling of a blade vertically down my wrist 

The slipping of consciousness.


Those pills call out my name,

Preaching at me to take just one fucking more. 

I can't sit still without hearing you scream out in misery  

Fist of death clenched around my throat,

There is no escaping it. 

Pacing back and forth to runaway from it,

Only to wind up shaking in the legs with fingers bruised around that bottle. 

I crave the poison and sweet serenity. 

My oasis is calling,

Just one more cut and I'll be home. 

Deep never seemed deep enough,

And the blood never pours like it's suppose to. 

Accepting the conclusion of miserable at best,

There's no more conquest. 

Mind like a weapon,

Body beaten by war. 

The heart throb of the year,

And you'll always want more. 

Hanging trees have always appeased me. 

Now let's give this ceiling fan a good use, 

One more knot, 

What a perfect noose.  

Blood and sweat drenched, 

I'll still survive. 

Only up until my ultimate demise. 

Comments (2)

This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

Welcome to Hennen's Observer! Thank you for your contributions, especially this poem which speaks so clearly and boldly about suffering. Your metaphors were many and well placed. Excellent job!

Joshua Hennen
This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

Thank you so much!

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