Hush, sand-lung devoured
Dark doorlight on these growing bones.
Her rotten soils flowered
In the firetaps of a hundred homes.
Scratching leaves of Hades
A mother wake as she sleeps
Bang of calling winter breeze
And skull, wailing, weeps.
Yet the care of sweet Persephone
Livens petal into bud.
Forgetful are flowers loved
That she forsake the plea.
In grander form the woundglow throbs
Sealed, golden napalm's artistry.
Yet wonder who we call our gods
The sweetmeat of Gaza street.
But there's the guilty purchased hearse!
Children lost to country lines
The Child lost to moving time
Steeped this blackened curse.
In sickness dawn is sour,
Life's sweetest leaving hour.
Skin's unravelling, another's observe,
Yet the clock heavy strikes the nerve.
To whom now do I serve?
Clouded twilight, betwixt, I loom,
cast solemn eyes across the gloom,
black waters rise, no stars, no moon,
reflective of my ending soon.
I glare into this lifeless void,
plagued in life, by those who toyed,
upon my heart, hope now devoid,
all future dreams, once had, destroyed.
Spring blossom sinks, in dimming light,
my future fate, feels sealed tonight.
For ponder I, back to that night,
I failed to save that woman's life.
For now, the circle, nears complete,
I tell myself, 'accept defeat'.
Let go, of stone, plunge fifty feet,
into dark waters, now retreat.
Yet still, my mind, such discourse flows,
the endless noise of thousand woes,
the squawking buzzard, murd'rous crows;
'Do all such things, count me as foe?'
Utter darkness, betwixt, I loom,
cast solemn eyes across the gloom,
black waters rise, no stars, no moon,
reflective of my ending soon.
05/23/2026 (first penned)
Today I stand in front of the mirror
Naked with a big cheeky smile
Eyes pooping out of their sockets
Teeth big, white and beautiful
I dress up and put on a flowery suit
I stare at my obviously muscular build
Almost at the door when I remember one important fact
You're not fully dressed without a smile
I go out into the bright, shiny sun
A still breeze caresses my shiny skin
I dab my face with my white handkerchief
Complete with my plastered cheeky smile
I drive off on a long stretch of road
Listening to the softest, gentlest tone
I nod my head to a booming beat
All while I wear my brightest, cheekiest smile
I get to a hill at a lonely place
I walk slowly to the looming hill
I look at the height with a slight relief
As I wear my brightest, cheekiest smile
I step back a little with a deep breath
I looked around but there's no one to see
I wear my smile for one final time
And then I go up, up and away
Oh! The ambience.
Creepy enough to make a child
cry for its mother.
The dark night, a sky pitched black,
billion fireflies and no moon.
Lying on a grass carpet,
I kept gazing.
My hands then
shivered, mind enraged;
chaos echoed, bursting it,
aiding an end.
Thus comes the nightmare.
Dreams seemed a distant delight,
delight now experienced by
a folk unknown.
My cold feet yearn for the warmth
of a fairy, once acquainted.
I urged, shed the last dried tear.
My possessions lack
a little…
Make me feel alive, muse.
Though I am gone,
bestow a heartbeat again...
An embrace before my final breath.
I am not the poet
to keep me in your thoughts.
I am a spirit
who picked up the pen.
Now, I break the quill.
I’d be mad at the world
If you suddenly decided to write your story with a rope
Tied to a ceiling
Or a razor
Glided against your pulse
No one goes out without a story
And your story wasn't perfect
No one's is
But you couldn't write some things in your story
And in your story someone else altered it
To hurt you
So
Some pages are torn and wrinkled
I don't think you can mend all the pages
You can't fully straighten a crumpled paper ball
But you can smooth it out
And try as best as you can to fix it
There will always be scars
Trust me
But scars are healed wounds
And you can alter the future of your story
Always
And scars can fade over time
Or till they leave a tiny mark
Therefore
If your story got too long
And too dark
I wouldn't remember how you went out
Because I'd be too angry at the world
But I'd remember your mark.
-D.B
My body got cold with no trapped soul
Its limbs lying still on the kitchen floor
Under the window that was next fixed
Icy whips whip against my even colder skin
But I never felt as warm
As when I got to be an Angel
Corpse gets uglier with the days passing
Its smell travels through the town
No one calls me, no one rings the doorbell
As my body is now moldy
But I never felt as free
As when I got to be an Angel
The room gets taken over by crawling bugs and maggots
Their meal is my heart
But I never felt as good
As when my heart was consumed
To never be alone again, never feel myself soaked in cold sweat
All that's left of me are teeth and bones
My skin turned into mud of blood and meat
I am rotten
But I never felt as clean
As when I got to be an Angel
I’m not sure I can go on, but I will try to breathe.
Sylvia Plath's last words
sleep, dear children, sleep
this world she can no longer keep
what life offers, I wish you the best
o dear children rest, please rest
the day awakens with a sigh
for this morning she must die
for her mind is not her own
this you will understand when grown
you will look to the stars and sun
o dear children your life has just begun
The morning after I tried to die was just like any other. My Grandmother called me from the kitchen, alarming me that I had slept-in too late. My face was puffy in my eyes, cheeks and lips. My body was fatter and more stocky. My color was all-well returned back to my head, with my nose a bright red. I had taken most of the pills in my prescription bottle, surprisingly nobody noticed the amount of them that were missing. Even though I was breathing, I have been dead for months.
The morning after I told her I was better off nowhere, in the thirty degrees heat, I left. I figured it made no matter where I found myself in the world anyways, for I was just a problem made of atoms.
The morning after he told me he loved me I took his blindness and handed it to Jesus, Jesus healed him like he did the others, and suddenly he was just a boy who had said three words he’d never mean.
The morning after the dog left, I saw his footprints embedded in the living room carpet like cement. I saw him moaning and crying at the door like the ghost he was, begging to come back.
The morning after I woke up, I wish I had not. But that's just life.
sometimes i fantasize about
driving on the highway
going eighty
and swerving into oncoming traffic
will that make the hurting stop?
walking somewhere
alone in the dark
and getting cornered by a murderer
will that make the hurting stop?
being home alone
door bursts open
an intruder with a gun pointed right at me
aimed right at my head
will that make the hurting stop?
the medicine cabinet torn apart
four pill bottles scattered around me
all once full
now empty
will that make the hurting stop?
a blade in my hand, pressed to my wrist
finally brave enough
to go deeper than just the surface
will that make the hurting stop?
going to bed one night
head laid on my tear-stained pillow
and never waking up again
will that make the hurting stop?
will the hurting ever stop?
or am i destined to live like this forever?
i'm not even living anymore
i'm just surviving
barely surviving
against my own will
i tried to end it all last night
i failed, obviously
it's so crazy to me how life goes on
when it almost didn't
i talked to my friends today
laughed with them
smiled as if everything was normal
but i doubt they could tell anything was off
i even hung out with a friend
and i love to hang out with her but
i spent most of our time
just wishing maybe she'd notice
see how lifeless my eyes are
see how yet another part of me is gone
just like the last time
and the time before that
but she didn't notice
nobody ever notices
but that's okay, i know they have their own struggles too
i try to always be there for them
even when i'm not there for myself
it's easier that way
to fix people's problems instead of my own
i'd rather sit back and let my life crash and burn
than confront them
but i'd be lying if i said i didn't want someone to see
i won't tell them on my own
i'll tell them if they ask
they don't ask, no matter how many times i ask them
so instead i'll suffer in silence
mostly silent, besides writing these
until someone finally notices
or i can finally succeed
The Cold Embrace of Death
The hush transports him to another place,
where peace and joy are swallowed by regret.
The sea allures him to his own disgrace,
Akin to earworms feeble to forget
The crashing surf now softly breathes her name,
and speaks of pledges, secrets still untold.
The wind relays his sorrow and his shame,
as old bad dreams before his eyes unfold.
Again, she slowly lets her body fall,
to free her life off fiends that proved too grim.
Each small morose detail he can recall
as hungry waves below try to reach him.
The weeds peep through as tidal waves recede
persuading him to join her and concede.
I called out to Death
And Death answered me
I cried out for his embrace
And he comforted me
I poured my heart out to Death
And he invited me to dine with him
For the two months I visited Death
I was at peace
I danced with Death and I felt free
Oh how i wished to dance with Death for all eternity!
To be one with him and to live with him
But alas, 'twas not to be
For the two months I was Death's guest
I never once thought of the ones i left distressed
Death had given me an escape from the mess
But looking back now 'twas not for the best
Through my waltz with Death
I caused more harm and no good
Never once looking back
Regret, a foreign taste upon my tongue
Now, Death's cold kiss is engraved on my neck
A reminder that dancing only leaves you with sore feet and a sore neck
A mark I will carry
Till the end of my days
My health, in shambles
My relationships, beyond repair
My self-esteem, in the gutters
And still all I can think of is 'my'
I have caused more harm than good
And learnt that dancing is best left for those called to dance
For I cried out to Death
And Death answered me
Before you leave the world tonight,
I want to tell you a story, a story about a girl who wanted to end her life. She tried to leave the world one night, but stopped when she saw this beam of light. She wrestled with her mind and remembered the life she was leaving behind. It wasn’t all daffodils and sunny skies; it was more dull and gray. But for there to be gray, there had to be light. For there to be darkness, there has to be light.
She thought for a moment: what if that little life wasn’t so dark and gray? See, on Wednesday, it was all sunny skies, but then came the clouds, so dark and gray. But then came the wind, who blew the clouds away, and the sun, well, it came back brighter the next day.
Maybe life is like the sun. Sometimes the dull and gray covers our view, but if she turns back now, maybe the sun will be out, the sky will be light, and just maybe, if she turns back now, she will find the light.
In the hallway of legends and ghosts
I wander aimlessly in dream
Talking with the dead of Brookhaven
The rope burns are still fresh on Helen's neck
A sickly scarlet mark upon her throat
In this corridor, I pace, a key in hand; lost
Forever the sojourn of quietus in keeping
Before a door numbered two, I stand
Silence a silver web with the muted sobs of angels
It is not a key I hold when she at last comes upon me
It is only the dark tangent of lost souls and vipers
And a blind man staggering upon a battlefield as
Cannons roar and the blue turban leers
The rains come like Jacob Marley's ghost
Riding the coach forever
Yes I may smile
But after a while
Maybe someone will see
This will never be me
Yes in fact
Its all an act
I am not happy
I am not proud
Im sad on the ground
Dying through a smile
Hidden on trial
The struggle so big
But no one to dig
Me out of this ditch
Please someone tell me its a glitch
And I really may be
One day
Me.
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