More To Life

This world is dark,
A place of mass hate.
I am referred to as a nark,
But only by my mates.
On society I have left my mark,
The last of my happiness – my conscience ate.
I have lost all my spark.
I am floating towards the gate.
Perhaps this is fate.
But who knows,
Everybody goes.

It’s a pity it had to end like this:
I wanted a pleasant death.
I never had her kiss.
Her face will not weather,
Her, I will miss.
Taking my last breath,
Here I go –
The last movement
I shall ever make.
Caught in this moment:
I hesitate.

Listening to the sweet melodies
Of the legendary Cat Stevens.
Feelings stream in mass quantity
They overlap – they are not even.
I see many deformities,
Now, my feelings are leavin’.
It is time,
‘Hand me the scalpel’
He he, a favourite phrase of mine.
I read the label:

‘Keep out of reach of children’.
The blade is emergent,
Evil like a bubbling caldron.
And yet somewhat my saviour. It seems complacent
With what it is about to achieve.
I bring it forward – my wrist’s adjacent
So much difference between life and death – it’s hard to believe
Death can be reached with such a small instrument.
I apply some pressure.
With little effort,
I observe the fissure.
The skin distorts,
With my feelings of hate, my mind, I reassure.

And…
Dad!

No – I was just …
Seeing how sharp it was.
Dad – death I do not lust!
It’s OK, simply because …
Well, the blade – tis not mordacious.
It means no harm’. I pause.
I think …
Death I do not lust?
I don’t want to die.
What was I thinking? I just –
‘Dad – has Mum yet finished her blueberry pie?
I’m starving, eat I must.’

As I leave my room, I see the scalpel in the corner of my eye.
I laugh and sigh – my feelings I now trust.

I do not want to die …