Harold Grimes Iii Poet Blank verse

Each Day

Each morning

I think of a reason

Not to kill myself.

Each morning

I trust my judgment

Less and less.

 


Each afternoon

I keep wondering

Why I keep going on.

Each afternoon

I resent the children

And their happy ignorance.

 


Each evening

I put the gun in my hand

Finger on the trigger.

Each evening

I put the gun down

I'm too afraid.

 


Each day

Takes a little more

Of my happiness.

Each day

Shows me bitterly

How it could have been.

 


Each of you

Look away

Blindly.

Each of you

Won't notice me

Disappear.

 


Each bullet

In this weapon

Sings a song to me.

Each bullet

Hums the tune

Of sweet release.

 


Each and every day

I imagine

The end.

Each and every day

Isn't today.

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