Death Wishes

looking into floor length mirrors, not wanting to react to this morbid mutilation boldly,
she turned off the lights, not wanting to recognize something so beastly,
or wanting to be reminded of her less than average beauty,
because then she would realize the worst part of her was the hunger-stricken belly,
layered like a cake, with bruises-- each blooming like a ripened berry.

she sat alone, confined between her bedroom walls,
wondering, pondering, as she locks herself behind closed doors.
if this night was the night, the night she falls,
struggling, striving, she sprawls across her cool floors.

reaching… reaching for anything that will end it all,
to once again return to sleeping forever, a lifeless doll.

for the pain… it was bleeding the very life from her bones,
but no matter the suffering, there were no groans or moans.

but, she did sing to the stars and the moon,
awaiting the night she will join one of them… soon.

suicide sweet suicide
can’t deal, can’t stand to feel the kiss of even a single tear.
can’t wait, can’t see past when I am lastly impaled.
I yearn to be near, but don’t out of fear… 
fear from the pain of another time failed.    

scars adorning my hands, my legs, my waist,
not quite suicide-- just a mere taste. 
these dark entities, crowding out one another for attention,
somehow, these creases in my body, attain perfection.

nicks standing boldly on my body, even though it’s forbidden.
holding hands, forming constellations, exposed but neatly hidden.

Finally I’m...
tasting glory, a void of blackness splurged with red.
popping, sizzling colors of pink, purple-- what a wonder.
what if all I could see were those colors
what if all I could feel were those colors
what if all I could taste were those colors
every cut getting closer and closer to chopping off my head,       this is
halfway heaven, halfway hell, a colorful haven between the living and the dead.

anger and anguish, overshadowed by pleasure-- what is this pot,
of terrifying, reassuring, emotions melting me on the spot?

confusion starts to turn into contusions,
right and wrong blur into useless delusions,
here’s my decision: this is the conclusion,
I’m sick and tired of these material illusions.

when life rejects you,
and death awaits you,
make the choice that everyone wishes they knew,
turn off the lights, take up the knife, and start this anew.

she sat alone, confined between her bedroom walls,
she wondered, pondered, as she locked herself behind closed doors.
if this night was the night, the night she falls,
struggled, strived, she sprawled across her cool floors.

colorful havens no longer offered a perpetual paradise,
nicks, scars, burns, all in preparation for this sacrifice,           because
permanent patches from knives were no longer enough,        so
firearms became her best friends, without the restricting handcuffs.

stilling a heartbeat thumping strong,
willing away breath that felt so wrong.

achieved, achieved something that ended it all,
she once again returned to sleeping forever, a lifeless doll.

never told her someone loved, never told her someone cared,
no one wanted to talk about it; we all wanted to be spared,
the awkwardness and sadness it would bring.
it’s too late to try and tell her, she’s gone,
it was our fault, that she thought she was a pawn,
a toy, and now she’s broken: a puppet without strings.

she had to choose between two doors, between two keys,      and
she chose eternal rest in the world without pain-- finally free.