The Fray

Last November I attempted suicide.
My mortal being had ingested Hell’s gifted cyanide.
So, the devil made it downpour, darker and colder.
 
Trailing me was some gasping, holy mortality,  
but with earthly feet  
they could barely keep up in sin's slackening sleet.
 
My guardian angel’s grasp resolute.  
It was too soon to see heaven’s loft.
Oh, but I why do I still wish that night in the freezing Hell I crossed?
 
Conviction she had to catch up to me!
Oh, on the frozen rain her footed grip was feathery,
her faith was almost not enough!
 
Lost still, so I write,
still forgotten to many is that night,
but I will never forget the loneliness and contrite.
 
I’m a walking, breathing corpse of mortality,
I’m haunted by my own self-brutality.
It still sinks in; the criticality.  
 
It is night again,
and I look back at the fray,
only to remember my heaven had only a glimmer on that day.
 
Someday through the lulling, hellish snow,
I’ll be running with gripped shoes  
And the fight I may lose…