Death
In the darkness of the night, I lay in my bed, my mind racing, a million things in my head, flashing back to moments of regret, wishing I could turn back time and forget. But I know deep down, it's too late now, I'm about to die. The memories flood my mind, a torrential wave, of laughter and tears, of hope and of grave, of moments that defined me, good and bad, as I lay here, alone and terribly sad. I wish I could go back, and make things right, to say the things I left unsaid, but it's too late now, the end is near, I can feel it, death is almost here. And as I take my final breath, I know, that the memories will stay with me, and grow, forever etched in my mind, my heart, and my whole. I wish I could say that I have grown, but deep down inside, I'm all alone, there's something about it, maybe it's just all I've ever known, it doesn't matter, I'm about to turn the stone. So let this be a lesson to all, young and old, to live life to the fullest, to take chances, and never fear, because life is short, and death is near.
in the moment after
He didn't believe in an afterlife.
Yet someone he knew that there was ground beneath his feet, metal sitting in his fingertips, and a bullet in his brain.
It wasn't the silence that he was imagining when he pulled the trigger.
Bang.
No.
This was a wash of regret and confusion and anger.
This was watching your own body fall to the ground as you float in a sea of mystic bullshit.
It was everything and nothing that he wanted.
And it played again and again and again in front of him.
Barely a minute of time.
Hanging up the phone.
Picking up the gun.
Falling to the ground.
Hanging up the phone.
Picking up the gun.
Falling to the ground.
Hanging up the phone.
Picking up the gun.
Falling to the ground.
Again and again and again.
Taunting him with the knowledge of his final decision.
This was the outlier of his life?
This was what the fates decided he needed to look at as the last of his breaths escaped his body?
Not friendship.
Not love.
Not heartbreak.
Just death.
Hanging up the phone.
Picking up the gun.
Falling to the ground.
A Prison
I entered hell last year,
I didn't know I was walking into it,
Until I walked into a pile of papers that were due in the next hour flying around my desk causing paper cuts in my brain.
Until I had to sit down at my desk for 6 hours 5 days a week,
Sitting down in the cheap, plastic chairs that make your back tweak.
Always trapped inside a room with someone teaching you an area of a triangle,
But I can't wrap my brain around how that's important.
I can only think about jumping out of the classroom window and enjoy the beautiful weather that mother nature has given me.
Sad that I can't jump out that window,
I can't embrace the sun blaring on my face.
I have to stay in this room and stare at a laptop until my eyes are too zoned in to blink.
Even the laptop is tired as I keep pressing her buttons to type and type,
I hear my laptop trying to talk to me.
Telling me she can't type anymore as she makes that sound sounding like she is about to explode.
I tell her that I feel guilty and that I’m tired too,
But I need to get my work done,
I can’t fail.
It's my job to do my work in order to get out of the prison I am trapped in.
But what's the point?
I work like my life depends on it for it to be graded on someone else's opinion.
They asked questions that only one out of a million can answer.
They can’t see the equations tap dancing in my brain as I try and figure out what a midpoint of a pentagon is.
They cant see me ransacking files in my mind like how a teenage girl would to her dresser
Meanwhile I have to do that and try to find that one file that holds the information of all the president's full names but they all just sound the same.
My brain stresses and shakes as I yell at it wondering why the information the teacher tells me goes through one ear and out the other.
All I see is equations on the board stacking up on each other,
I wonder why I can't remember what I need to,
And all I can remember is where I am ranked.
I know that where I am ranked throughout my class doesn't define how smart I am,
But when everyone else in this hell thinks that it matters then it's hard to get that out of your head.
The first walk of hell lasts for around 9 months until you finally get a break from it.
It's like god wants you to get a break but on your way up you slip back down,
It's like a never ending cycle,
School is a never ending cycle.
A Prison
I entered hell last year,
I didn't know I was walking into it,
Until I walked into a pile of papers that were due in the next hour flying around my desk causing paper cuts in my brain.
Until I had to sit down at my desk for 6 hours 5 days a week,
Sitting down in the cheap, plastic chairs that make your back tweak.
Always trapped inside a room with someone teaching you an area of a triangle,
But I can't wrap my brain around how that's important.
I can only think about jumping out of the classroom window and enjoy the beautiful weather that mother nature has given me.
Sad that I can't jump out that window,
I can't embrace the sun blaring on my face.
I have to stay in this room and stare at a laptop until my eyes are too zoned in to blink.
Even the laptop is tired as I keep pressing her buttons to type and type,
I hear my laptop trying to talk to me.
Telling me she can't type anymore as she makes that sound sounding like she is about to explode.
I tell her that I feel guilty and that I’m tired too,
But I need to get my work done,
I can’t fail.
It's my job to do my work in order to get out of the prison I am trapped in.
But what's the point?
I work like my life depends on it for it to be graded on someone else's opinion.
They asked questions that only one out of a million can answer.
They can’t see the equations tap dancing in my brain as I try and figure out what a midpoint of a pentagon is.
They cant see me ransacking files in my mind like how a teenage girl would to her dresser
Meanwhile I have to do that and try to find that one file that holds the information of all the president's full names but they all just sound the same.
My brain stresses and shakes as I yell at it wondering why the information the teacher tells me goes through one ear and out the other.
All I see is equations on the board stacking up on each other,
I wonder why I can't remember what I need to,
And all I can remember is where I am ranked.
I know that where I am ranked throughout my class doesn't define how smart I am,
But when everyone else in this hell thinks that it matters then it's hard to get that out of your head.
The first walk of hell lasts for around 9 months until you finally get a break from it.
It's like god wants you to get a break but on your way up you slip back down,
It's like a never ending cycle,
School is a never ending cycle.
Machiavellian Cells
Machiavellian cells forming
They want to kill me
Fluorescent lighting
Orange bottles are all I see
I'll be fine
I'll be gone
They'll hate the tumor in my spine
I hope my memory lives on
My spot at the dinner table now the babies
The need to start over
I wasnt good enough too live on as a lady
The morning after I died they felt a hangover
Machiavellian cells forming
Cancers swarming
Dysmorphia
Eating because I’m bored,
But feeling guilty after eating.
It’s an endless cycle.
Full but never satisfied.
Looking in the mirror and feeling overweight,
Even though my family says I’m too thin.
Living with body dysmorphia is not living,
It’s simply existing in constant guilt and disgust.
My own personal Hell is all in my head,
But it feels so real.
Perish or Prosper
Trapped in a cell of my own making.
Day indistinguishable from night,
Dirt floor and stone walls surrounded.
Torches exposed a hopeless existence.
“You create your own freedom.” Truth revealed.
“How?”
“Through the water.”
A reservoir appeared.
Time passed, duration undetermined.
“Your life waits for you.” Truth urged.
Trembling hands gripped a rocky ledge.
Body submerged. Nose held. Head dunked.
An informal baptism.
A tunnel presented.
I resurfaced, wanting guarantees.
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
Terrified, I climb out,
And retreat to the safety of my cell.