11 September 2014

one slit wrist

in the tub I sit
I feel depression in the air
water spills over the edge
and I really no longer care
slit my wrist from here to there

I thought it would hurt
was upset I felt nothing
but the pain in my heart
which was profusely bleeding
all over my reality

a prayer breaks free
calls on my darkest of hours
that you might show up
I don't have that type of power
I drift off to promise land

found dead by a stranger

Cinquain Poem
Copyright © 2014 by Patrick B Vince

No comments:

Post a Comment