After

My right ear
Against the floor of my cell
I’d know of it, if I could see
But my eyes aren’t open, and
It’s too late for me to breathe

The night’s resulting splay-
Vile liquid pooling from my lips
Cold crust sealing my eyes shut
Mind pouring in the end

I’ve gone, but the fan above continues
Its swaying motion of brokenness,
The world still throws itself dizzy, round and round
And the eyes of heaven’s darkness still burst and bleed

And somewhere a rain is falling. The heroes
Put away their faces and graze in dark solitude
In shame for the lives they can not admit
Could never have been saved

——

One of the newer ones but it’s from March, before I started class. It’s just finished today that’s all…I don’t know why, but I’m a little nervous about posting any of the more recent stuff I’ve written.  I guess I need to settle with the idea that I’m going to be writing about the same things, until something really changes in my life. I’m far too comfortable with writing about certain things. Even when I do attempt to write on a completely different topic, it always comes back to what’s familiar to me, if I make any sense with that. I’m working on it though.

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1 Comment

Filed under Death, pain, personal, poems, poetry, suicide, Thoughts

One response to “After

  1. The ending of this one is especially good. Oh, how I want to tell the heroes that they do what they do in vain, always. Even if we live another day, I cannot bring myself to think it worth much. It would be another day of a spinning fan, another day of glaring computer screens and droning televisions. It sounds so miserable, doesn’t it? But I guess in the end we don’t have to be locked away if we don’t wish it. We can venture out if we want. But even that holds little to no charm. It’s all about perspective—and to some the idea of another day is brighter and more sustaining than even the rays of the sun. I try for that mindset, but I will never have it.

    I think it’s normal to stick to familiarity. That’s one of the reasons I have difficulty writing stories; I have this terrible habit of morphing my main characters into the same person every time. I start off thinking “this one will be different”, but by the time I’ve gotten their personality all fleshed out, I can only sigh and beat my head into my desk as I realize that I’ve gone and done it again. Like you said, new experiences would help, change, that and pure willpower. Sometimes when I want to alter the tone of what I’m writing, I’ll listen to something more uplifting while I type, something that has no somberness to it. For some reason that can sometimes be enough to get me back on target.

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