How do I stop the pain?
Do I take a knife and slit my throat
Do I cut my self-till the pain dulls away?
How about hanging myself on my celling fan
Or shooting all my bullies
Oh wait ive got the answer
I’ll just pop another pill
Drown myself in the bathtub
Do I jump of the nearest bridge?
Or throw myself in front of a speeding car
NO THOSE ARE NOT THE ANSWERS
I’ll get help that’s what I’ll do
I’ll tell some no good therapist
My sorry ass story
How I hate my life
How nobody truly understands me
With tears In her eyes she smiled in the mirror
You're a strong one, you fell but got up
Although right now
I don't know how much longer you can keep it up
And her smile dies down while she holds the blade to her wrist
I'm still a breath away
from that moment
I can still hear
her sweet voice
from when we danced
the night away
I'm still a breath away
from her screams
and the sound
of her bones
breaking
I've decided that hearts don't break
'cause they're not bones
they're muscles
and they rupture
and tear
Roses are red,
sometimes im thinking,
about people what think I'm lying,
about being hurt,
because they see me,
laughing.
But actually,
I laugh to keep,
myself from crying
Love at the lips was touch
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed too much;
I lived on air
That crossed me from sweet things,
The flow of--was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Down hill at dusk?
I had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they’re gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle.
I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that stung.
Beside you while you slumbered, lad,
My restless heart had lain
Through all the hours of the night
Aware of love and pain.
Aware of love and morning’s light
And eyes that must betray
When someday you should look in mine
Then ever look away.
I’ll come to where you slumber, lad,
If death shall mark me not
And say the prayer that now I pray,
And thought I had forgot.
rouses from a dream of fear. Suppressing
a moan, spine filled with fluids overnight,
yes, again, and ankles still in pain. Across
the flanks of her beloved she now crawls,
stumbles round the room to find the handle
of her life, or only the door, sliding her feet along.
A floor creaks with dry rot as she steps among
the objects that reshape her: bloomers, slips,
half-slips, girdles, bras, tights, stockings.
She feels, Braille-fingered, for the small room where
all who seek may find that men or women are
only men or women; here they see themselves
before any other's eyes, and by a harsh light.
Her eye looks deeply through her from the glass;
tells her that her sorrows are contemptible. So?
red thread the open wound
and from it the red rivulet
will drain into the metal dish
and curl into water
no more now
it is just a stitch
stitches
the wound gash drawn in and thread
dust of glass in the wound ground in
round the heel and spiral down into
blue glass pummelled beyond crystal
a useless moon dust
pounded to glass
the red thread
lets no light in
the shards are small
On the therapist's couch, I wonder aloud what it would be
like to bundle all the pain I’ve ever experienced together
with any future pains, to feel them all at once and be
done with it. I mean everything, from the hangnails,
slivers, cuts, and bruises, to the pain of lost relationships
and death. I think how overwhelming it would be, how
completely unbearable. Still, if getting it all over in one
great rush was possible, would it be worth it or would it
kill me?
a river
overflows its banks...
silence
Welcome to our vertical facility.
Affliction put you in your current
horizontal state. Our machines
will swallow then disgorge you.
Our nurses will swaddle you,
lay you in a basket of morphine,
float you out upon a reservoir of misery.
Our physicians will take note of you.
Lie flat, please, as little waves
of pain lap, nip at your being.
My arms were always quiet,
Close, and never freed.
I was furled like a banner,
Enfolded like a seed.
I thought, when Love shall strike me,
Each arm will start and spring,
Unloosen like a petal,
And open like a wing.
Oh Love — my arms are lifted,
But not to sway and toss;
They strain out wide and wounded.
Like arms upon a cross.
Sudden pain of earth
I hear in the fallen leaf.
"Life's autumn," I cry.