Hello Darkness, my old friend
I’ve got some news:
I don’t want to be an adult.
I don’t have the energy to even
Try
To think about
Killing myself.
I feel awful empty
Inside.
Inside.
Inside
Me.
What is there
But space?
Empty
Empty
Space?
“Many of these natures are
Wholly incapable of ever
Having recourse to real suicide,
Because they have a profound
Consciousness
Of the sin of doing so.
For us they are suicides nonetheless;
For they see death
And not life
As the releaser.”
And there is,
Stirring within me,
A profound urge toward
Death;
A part of me
That yearns to die.
But, I wonder,
If indeed
There is a way out.
Or doth here lie
My own sacred purgatory?
A wasting away,
A wave crashing into sand
Soaking in the shore?
A fish caught in the net
Waiting,
Waiting,
Waiting for release?
