I'M Sorry
Looking back, I can see the footprints of my life.
Stained with blood, their path is unsure,
staggering like a wounded thing.
I sit cross-legged in the sand.
What is this life I have led so far?
Am I here to sort everyone’s pain but mine?
If so… why does it never work?
HOW is it that everyone I know takes their life?
Or at least… they try.
I take the knife in my hand.
On reflection… I suppose it’s my entire fault.
The way I’ve broken their spirits.
The way their dull eyes stare back at me.
Begging me to release them from their pain.
Look what I’ve done!
My reflection in the blade makes me wretch.
I stare. Stare into nothing.
The wind blows harshly, tearing at my face.
Assuring me I’m the wrong doer.
Caressing my cheek with it’s icy blast.
I put the cold blade to my wrist.
My own selfish needs got the better of me.
This result is not worth their lives.
I’ve failed so many times before,
Tell me, Lord!
Why should I stay?
I cut. My crimson pain in unleashed from my veins.
Tears fall and mix with my blood.
My head spins and the world seems bleak.
This entire sphere of eternal struggle.
Hitler was right…
Those who are weak do not deserve to live.
And so I put myself out of my misery.
My staggered path ends here.
In one bloody mess,
I lay sprawled on the charred, dusty road.
I won’t thank you, Lord, for giving me life.
I’m just so sorry…
For all I have done.
Copyright © Olivia Murray | Year Posted 2009
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