That’s Mr. Darkness to You

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?

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