Suicidal

i’m tired
completely worn out
after hours of distress
no christmas dinner for me
haven’t caught a bite to eat
between the suicidality
and avoiding the police
wasting away this christmas day
lost on the verge of
a fraying mentality

i should be dead
how do i keep pulling through?
this weird instinct is wired
all wrong
i fight to stay alive
meanwhile, i’m fighting to die

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The Cost of Living

I just received an invoice in the mail
$97 owed to an accident and emergency centre
For when I showed up distressed
Near the end of November
Asking for a quiet place to sit
While my panic attack rode out
And I regained the will to live

This country has medical funding
To ensure good health is maintained
Because accidents do happen
It really is a shame
That the place that I took solace
The place I thought was safe
Has been stripped from my breast
Due to monetary strain

I’ve unintentionally become a suicidal maniac, been having to go to a lot of medical departments recently.. I think this was an admin screw up but I’m too sick to deal with it or even pay it ugh

Disability 

I don’t write poems anymore
I’m sick and uninspired
and disabled

I thought things would get better
I really did

But I’m still lost and alone
Completely out of control
Clawing at the seams of my mentality
As they rip and unravel
Revealing bloody half-assed wounds

This suffering is eternal and selfish
I’m ashamed of the person I’ve become
Narcissism torments suffocating anxiety
I rip out my eyes and tear the beating heart from my chest

I hold it in front of you and we cry together through the sweet escape 

How To Save A Life In 10 Minutes

Yesterday a friend of mine
came upon an opportunity
to save a struggling life

he’d skipped out of class early
to ease his aching back

headed to the pub
catching a train
to race on down the tracks

ten minutes to wait
schedule often runs late
so slowly he paced
toward the end of the station
out of the bustling commuters way
to light up a J

he came across a situation
unlike any usual sensation

a middle aged woman
eyes lulling and rolling
face sunken, pale white
fresh wounds up her sleeve
from her mouth white froth seethed

he’s no stranger, you see
to the perils of anxiety
without a moment of delay
he began to help her in every way

her pulse was low
she would be gone soon
an overdose surely
would not today
be her doom

he called for an ambulance
arrived in minutes to the scene

the twist that rules supreme
is the number of people who had seen
a real-life human-being
dying alone
in tragedy

they’d no intention to act
or even stop to check

during minutes waiting
for the medics to arrive
he asked her a few question
though not-much could she rise
“80 pills” of something
was all that she advised

paramedics swept the scene
took flight with the near-dead

he left no name
the anonymous hero
zero remains

and with the station bare again
he stepped onto his train

I Feel Ya, Buddy

No,

You don’t get a say

In a manic depressive’s ways

Until you’ve been to

The End’s of the Earth

Completely lost at sea

Drowned, hurled back in

Then torn apart at the seams

 

Once you’ve come back to rest

And you breech, gasp for air

A whip-lash kick to the teeth

Will send you spiraling back there.

To the midst of the soul-crushing depression

That laps, pants and drools.

It peels back your skin

Vicious claws used as tools.

Picking epidermis

              piece

                     by

                          piece

In such a way, you would rue

That sick twisted day

In which this demon itself

Chose its possession

To be you.

To Robin, with strength

Yeah, suicide is shit

There’s no right or wrong

But surely that means nothing

Once you’re actually gone.

 

Is that not the point?

To be rid from this life.

The disaster and chaos

And infinite strife.

I know I’d leave them behind

If the choice truly were mine

But there’s parents and friends

Such lovers who’ll whine.

 

“Suicide is selfish”

Is oft what I’ve heard

But maybe what you think

Is what’s really absurd.

Yeah, you’ll sometimes feel waves of uncertainty,

Passing thoughts of confusion and grief

But are your interpretations

Of these flighting moments

Worth sacrificing someone else’s relief?

When they’ve hit perpetual exhaustion

And are ready to finally admit defeat

The decision is not yours

It is theirs wholly, complete.