I cut to see if I feel how it's like being human,
I cut to see the pain relinquish inside,
I cut for all the memories that remain to drain down in the sewage
What symbols life runs with death in that rusty pipe.
A slash here and a slash there,
What happened in the past?
A slash here and there,
Soon the memories don't last.
Scissors, knives, razors and sharp edges
keeps a bloody smile, no more weep.
Slice and dice, trim more than the hedges
And I don't care if I go to deep.
One scar closer to a never ending dream,
I don't care if I go to deep.
As I deliberate on sliding this blade across my vein,
The blood flowing out might help ease my pain.
No one can save me from this pain that hurts to my soul,
These are thoughts that are out of my control.
It's like being in hell on earth,
No one realizes how bad depression hurts.
I love but never get love back in return,
I do everything to make someone happy but keep getting burned.
The tone in my voice the look in my eye,
I'm so serious I'm ready to die.
I'm so weak no strength in my bones,
When I'm gone everyone will be left with the unknown.
They will realize how important I was,
They didn't know it before because no one really does.
All I ask is for a little love,
To be treated nice and be peaceful like a dove.
My hearts racing as I contemplate,
Finally realizing what is really my fate.
I have no reason or destiny,
I know that I'll never be truly happy.
This pain is overbearing I can't deal,
No one understands that depression is real.
I think about the people in my life,
And if I did this all my loved ones would be in strife.
So I lay down the blade and never give in,
God wouldn't be happy for committing this sin.
The angels all happy singing in cheer,
Knowing that I'm being strong trying to overcome this fear.
December 19, 2007
~The One and Only~
"Why must we suffer hardships and disease?"
we often wonder. Pain, adversity,
war, famine, death...our philosophy
cannot put the questions to rest or ease.
Depression, mania, infirmities
of the mind,--subjects of psychology
that are all causes of man's great misery...
the most tragic end of these maladies
is death by self. But we're not without hope
or God's compassion; today we can go
on with meds and care: we learn to cope;
it's easy to lose faith when you are low
and in despair, but you are in God's scope
right now...this believe in and always know.
I ****ing hate myself and want to die.
In Utero, I deem inspiration,
but not sarcasm or imitation.
My anguish is authentic and a cry
for help, but why would people waste their time?
Not like their so-called justification
for concern is any indication
that they care enough to bawl, weep and cry.
Nobody will even care when I’m gone,
much less the violated deity.
For that, I am ungrateful and alone.
I scorned her body with a written piece.
A conclusion which should have been forgone.
Forgone like death, which should put me at ease.
Death Of My Lover - Monsieur L'Vampyre
Out of my bleakest darkest memory
that I'd endowed to what must be
there came a burning to my mind
as cold as life to me.
For all the will I had, and how I tried,
to find a place my soul could hide
where I'd be safe from all alone;
short of my lunacy.
In all the secrets of my love's desire
that first showed with her love for hire
I never knew her failing heart
would take her life from me.
In mine own madness when she died away
the tears I shed were night and day
in search of where she might have gone
where life just doesn't see.
There's not a thought I didn't call to mind
as possibilities for me to find
the place she died into that day--
and there -- love might send me.
© Ron Wilson aka veebdosa the doylestown poet