this poem is basically about my fear of dying.
Standing on the ledge,
thinking should I jump?
No! Gruesome is not
how I want it to be.
Laying in the bath tub
Staring at the blade between my fingers
wondering should I really cut?
No! Bloody is not how I want it to be.
Sitting in my room,
looking up at the fan
adorned with ropes I had earlier prepared
thinking should I really tie the ropes around my neck?
No! Ugly is not how I want it to be.
Counting the pills in my hand,
wondering if the pills I'm holding should be enough?
or should I add more?
No! I don't want to take any chances
and wake up in the hospital bed
lamenting about how I was absolutely wrong.
Then again I wonder how long will this continue?
Finding excuses for everything and cursing myself
for being nothing but a weak soul
who doesn't even dare to call death by its name!