The Choice is Mine

Poetry is a beautiful and moving art form. Here it lies.

I call, and guess who answers?

Nobody.

Not a single soul.

 

The pain is too great.

 

But the choice is mine, right?

     To make that cut.

           Or not.

 

The choice is mine.

     To take that drink.

           Or not.

 

The choice is mine.

     To take that pill.

           Or not.

 

The choice is mine, right?

     To die,

           Or not?

 

I cannot possibly speak.

     Visions of you haunt my mind.

     Visions of what you did.

     Your evil clouds cognition.

           Unspeakable.

 

I cannot possibly eat.

     Hunger suppressed by your inhumanity.

     Fought off by the monstrosity.

     Your evil fills my stomach.

           Unthinkable.

 

I cannot possibly love.

     Emotion warded off by pain.

     Feeling obstructed by hate.

     Your evil occupies my emotions.

           Unimaginable.

 

I call, and guess who answers?

Hope.

And it's a damn good thing.

The End

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