It turns 3, the clock and the calendar

Ushering in new feelings, and yet old

Dejavuic hustle bustle, the same old

and yet, new in its mundanity —

the age-old strife, the battle with pain

A gun lies at my table, a razor blade too

Suicide is easy escape from this buzz-buzz

Do I end my life right now?

I have a choice, and in one of them, two choices

Death by bullet or death by slice

But the other choice is to live — for now, for the now

And that I do, casting the gun aside, the blade I dullen

Friends where are you? Comfort me, please, I am sick

Alone.

That most horrible word in the English dictionary

Murder don’t hold a candle to it and hell’s a poor synonym

Come friends, forget your old feuds with me, save me

this is your one chance, lest it be too late

And it gets dark for real, for forever and forevermore.

Come, if you’re near, hug me please, I need a shoulder

If there be a shrink in your midst, diagnose me, heal me

Lord knows the docs here tried and failed to do so

It’s too tiring, this depression and the skirmishes with it

this pendulum bipolar hither, thither, here to heretofore

This suckle vortex of dementorish deliriums

(and they say greatness will be borne out of this!)

Tobacco-weakened, lethargy-anemic, dead-dreams-filled

I find this burden too hard to bear, the ring around my neck

Come Mount Doom may and I will cast it into the fire

But there is no Mordor, only an endless wasteland

Handfuls upon handfuls of fear-ridden dust

It’s not dark yet, but its getting there

Bleak than bleaker, weak than weaker

Missing who I was before this whole mess

Living a hundred years ahead and a hundred back

No euphoria to be had in either nostalgisizing or hoping

Only the parasitic infection of a bug in my mind writhing

Las Plagas, the haunter of the dark, the clown who eats worlds and children

When Chester died I ain’t cried but huge part of me died with him too

When Chris committed suicide I saw an idol falling, my belief shaking

When those to whom I tethered myself in hopes of support faltered

I broke, and that what lives and writes is nothing but a hollow specter

I’ll imagine it, here, life without me:

momma will cry, daddy will too, my brothers and sisters will be distraught

rumors will fly, people some will say good riddance to the evolutionary weak

others some will resonate, relate, sympathize, judge not lest they be judged

others will have shock on their faces, thinking ‘wait, it was real, the predicament?’

‘we’d thought he’d only been going through a phase’

my books, my brother will have them distributed to friends, some he’ll sell cheap

my games he’ll maybe play when he’s overcome the pain of loss

my computer, Jarvis, will miss me most, and not any people, for it was on Jarvis that I bled words

my university folk will think that I caved under the pressure of academia I couldn’t handle

my literary circle will think the hypomania succeeded, prevailed, and took me as yet another sacrifice in the name of mad literature

my elders and the religious will curse me for having killed myself; “Haram! He’ll burn in hell for entirety!”

King will not know, King will be unaffected, though he may feel a beamquake at the tower

Worms will be glad to feast on this fresh meat in the grave,  succulent with fear and agony

Crows o’er the cemetery will caw unaffected, their banter tells the skies no new tales

That which is not dead may eternal lie, some cultists of my religion, the secret religion, will say at night

they’ll try to wake me in vain, and when they’ll see I’m gone for real they’ll commit a mass suicide too in my name

there in the graveyard, baptizing mounds of earth in crimson: Abrahamic sacrifice and yet unholy

that girl who mayhap loved me, she’ll feel sad, that other girl(s) who hated me will feel glad

my buzurgs, the dervishes at whose helm I prostrated in the name of the Lord will know better; something that even I don’t

“Call the doctor, the suicide-helplines, call whoever you can, come here, reach out to me!” you’re thinking

I wouldn’t reach out with this considered stigma to anyone. I did once, thrice, half a dozen times

And she, them, him, they did not understand, only mocked and taunted and felt hurt — FELT OFFENDED!

I, more than any of them, am my own worst enemy, the orchestrator of my catastrophe

as much as I am my own best friend, standing and holding my hand at times when no one else would

Crawling through my veins, in my skin, these wounds they will never heal

This is the first time, in all its graveness, that I have contemplated committing suicide

And this scares me. Prior to this, even in the sickest throes of my sickness, I had hope

But now even its reserves seem to have run dry … is this my battle? my test on this earth?

Is this why I was put here? To see what I’d do given this hardest multiple choice questionnaire?

Head-first hallucination, I wanna fall wide awake

Watch the ground giving way now

You tell me it’s alright

Tell me I’m forgiven, tonight

But nobody can save me now

I’m holding up a light

I’m chasing up the darkness inside

‘Cause nobody can save me

Been searching somewhere out there

For what’s been missing right here”


Here’s one for your Chester 😥 I’m torn, and while I can’t feel in the same magnitude what you feel, I do feel it, and sympathize. And I pray. I hope you are in a better place. I sincerely do. Rest in Peace.

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