The Bleed

I polished this a little bit more and thought it right to re-post it now. It is all a true story, one no one in my life knows about, and one I don’t ever intend to explain to them, because of how difficult it would be to honestly understand where I am coming from without being sickened or afraid. I could be wrong, but I just don’t think they’re ready for something like it, and I am not ready myself to have the words leave me.

At a selfish hour, with rightly selfish thoughts

Lines so overwhelmed in agony are taught

To be my shock from a pleading secrecy

To scream; to justify the pain and the release.


Generous moonlight, illuminated tears

I hide my twitching sanity in sheer.

A lasting sorrow with night only to care

It’s the leaning, slit, the drip and stare.  


Reap, to rid my eyes of their breathing hue.

The nightmarish things I put my soul through

Dangerous hope with razor hostility

The longing, the depth in red defeat.


There’s a throbbing chill, I’ve practiced this before.

Dark dream, reality, the feeling I’ve prayed for

The shadows wade low, grieving what they see,

Swallowing the sight of a desperate bleed.




1 Comment

Filed under Art, Death, Life, personal, poems, poetry, suicide, Thoughts

One response to “The Bleed

  1. lucienlachance

    I really don’t know how to reply to this one.

    I think we all have our desperate moments, yet that doesn’t stop me from being apprehensive about what you’re talking about. I’ve been almost ready, very close, but I have never actually picked up the gun, loaded it, and put it to my head, I’ve only looked at it or held it.

    I don’t know what it’s like to be absolutely certain, I only know the feeling of not wanting to live, and concentrating on death as a means to ending it. Something always holds me back.

    It has to be a heavy secret to hide, and I’m sorry that you do have to keep it from people. It’s difficult to even get family members to understand suicide. It scares people that anyone could possibly even be thinking of ending their life; it’s against everything we’re taught.

    The fact that you can talk about it though, I think that is a good thing. Progress, maybe? It’s bad to hold thoughts in, especially such poisonous ones.

    I hope that you never get to that point again, I really do.

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