The Maelstrom

Suicide is not a joyous release.
It's not beautiful or relaxed.
It's not poetic, red teardrops
falling in slow motion,
rolling rosy down waxy cheeks
all ready for the open-casket close-ups.
Juliet does not eulogize, audience captive.

it's a hundred
ragged breaths
screaming, gasping
holding your life
in your hands
begging yourself
not to do it
(not to do it!)
blood spattering dirty tile
running random
down arms
sliding fingers
slick with red
and shaking fierce
with adrenaline overload
surging through your ears
not wanting to do it
tearing the very
fibers of being
in the struggle
but telling yourself
heart in throat
swallowing bile
losing it again
retching, sobbing
get through it
get through it
and you'll find
what you want
nothing
there's no eloquence
just animal
instinct
against primal fear

suicide is an ugly
ugly truth
and it's not
giving up
or weakness
or fading away
it's the single
greatest
most courageous
act possible
and i pity the ones
strong enough