Don’t let me tweeze my eyebrows on the day of the damned, numb dreams surviving threw the depths of my rock hard solid heart. Stones and bottles on my back. The tears make sounds over a bottle of wine in the eyes of my family. Balanced and sorted. Bones and mourning, the death of the role model that used to be me. Anywhere, I’m there. Now, you will see there is plenty of hate for me and love for all that pass in my mind. Red pen and sunlight might help me find some new, to be; beautiful scars. Carved. My arm. Alarmed to see this can’t be the only me. The me you see. Daydream of the seas of eyes looking beyond me. Trees. They see the dark, in the deep, where the souls of the hopeless think they are safe from judging eyes. Goodbyes, the way the wind howls and cries. When the poisonous bees fly, and die. The way life sucks us dry, and we die. The trees. Bees. Me. The dreams. Fiends. Lean. Names of nobodies. Dames that hail from Jesus loving ‘Daddies’. The same shame. Blame, justified by the fame. We all consent to play this game. Except today. I might get lost in the trees. Away from the dreams and the poison sets in from the sting of the bee. One small fee, my will not to be; leading to the path of a fiend, and the end of the eyes that seemed to be looking at me, but in reality I was looking to see what they see in me. Avoiding the hate I have. The struggle of me, fighting the urge to disappear into the trees. 


8 thoughts on “Suicide

  1. This one tugs at me on a personal level…

    And…you should write what your soul wants to write, not what you think we want to hear. The right audience will find you.

    Thanks for sharing.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s