…a poem…


Last night death crept into my room,

And watched me as I slept,

He placed a blade beside my hand,

Where I would cut the best.

He sat himself upon my heart,

A heavy burden I could feel,

That heightened every fear,

And made each nightmare real.

He placed his hand upon my mind,

And stirred it with such dread,

That I cried out in pain,

From the horror painted in my head.

He kissed my cheek, and I felt cold,

A cold I’d never dreamed before,

It was the loneliness he lived,

And I could take no more.

The blade a beacon of release,

Played upon my heavy thoughts,

And the flesh I traced with it,

Was a sadness not forgot.

They found me lying the next day,

A shriveled corpse of what I’d been,

But agony I did not feel,

I felt peace for leaving what I’d seen.

– August 12/2004