I didn’t have the greatest of childhoods I spent years in and out of hospital with various ailments. I felt like I was a burden and sank into alcoholism and depression. One night after having had yet another spell in intensive care I couldn’t live with it anymore. I felt there was only one way out, to make it easier on those around me. Simply put I tried to kill myself. Thankfully I failed and sought help it took years but I’m finally able to talk about it openly. So I wrote the following poem as a salve.
Life twists, turns and spirals,
A leaf caught in an uncaring grasp,
Sometimes gentle, sometimes harsh.
The dreamer wakes the downward spiral,
Despair thickened like molasses,
Sinks to his chest in toxicity.
Life crushed, broken dolls,
Limbs scattered as flotsam,
on unwashed shores.
The pain of living pulls despondently
Towards broken promises,
Painful half truths writ large.
Bitterly shaken hands grasp bottles,
Let loose the genie, pain killers to numb
Sleeping pills to drift away.
Life smashed on scattered sands,
Tears fell unnoticed washed away
By white horses as he drank the past
No more tomorrows, no more pain,
Memories discarded among the flotsam
Driftwood returns to driftwood.
Feeble flicker of life refuses
To pass fights to live,
Bile rises, darkness
The dreamer awakes
Discarded, carried on a sea of bile
Half digested pills, whisky stinks the air.
Slowly painfully picks up the phone
Dials a half forgotten number
“hello? I tried to kill myself”