The Pain of Living
My soul is black,
there’s no light
for someone
who’s like me.
One prick here,
one prick there,
I watch as I start to bleed.
Millions of things
go through my mind
and this one thing
goes through my head:
How can I bleed
like the living,
when all I feel
is dead?
My soul left me
so long ago
as pain and strife
would never cease.
Just like that,
I gave into it
and was consumed
by the beast
Though my soul died,
there is a part of me that says
I’m just too weak.
But I listen not;
I block it out,
and a reason for
living is now what I seek.
I’m no longer
in control as
another side
seems to be taking the lead.
I can’t stand the
pain of living,
so should I just
carry on with the deed?
I see no reason
not to;
my soul is just
an empty mass.
A tear rolls down
my cheek
as in agony, I
break the glass.
I pick up one of
the larger shards
and I see my reflection
all too clear.
In disgust, I cut
my wrists,
hoping the darkness
will soon be near.
As I lay on
the bathroom floor,
feeling my blood
soak into my shirt.
I can’t help but
notice as I join the dead
the pain of life
still seems to hurt.
Okay...I know it sounds like every other one of my poems, but I was feeling deeply depressed. Forgive me if the rhyme sceme seems to forced...I seem to do that a lot in my poetry...anyway, thanks for reading.
That's a pretty good poem, I know how you feel, I would tell you that things'll get better, they always do... but i've stopped even telling myself that at this point, but i do hope things turn out well
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