How will it end?Mature

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!

The End

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