Death wish.

Today is another lonely cry for help,

A silent scream separating itself from reality,

Crying for so many things to work that it could be easier to cry for death.

Death comes to everyone,

Everyone wishing it fell upon them at its most delay,

But I? I was too young when I wished for it for the first time.

Hell, too young to act on that wish for the first time.

Blah blah, we’ve all read the finest poems on sadness,

The finest in words of helplessness,

Finest at its immortal.

But I? I could’ve bled alive in slow death and call it my poem,

The truth about the true despairs.

On a pedestal all your life, you would want to end it and succeed too,

But I? I am that bare minimum, warm enough to not being able to.

The last time I wished for death more than ever,

Distracted by the thought of something venomous but precious,

Simpler because it was something..

I would’ve done it for anything, anything that even in only my imagination, asked me to stay,

I’m bleeding everyday, every single breath harder to take.

I want to live, I do,

I want to build something too,

I want to have another reason to go on,

But I? I’ll just wait till an accident does it for me,

Till a good film or a horrible lover drives me to it,

Till I can feel anything that gives me hope for a tomorrow,

I’ll be one of those dying without a suicide note,

I’ll be the one that people, at a funeral, think of reasons why I would,

I’ll be the mystery that everyone witnessed unravel under curtains and never bother peeking through,

I’ll be the reason that will lead to more murders,

I will be the woman your parents will love you more because of..

I will be the reason people will be people for a few days and think of what must’ve gone wrong and what should’ve been done right,

I will be that candle that reminds a friend of how it was so simple to make somebody live,

Make somebody feel like life was better than death, no matter what,

I will be that validation that the world believes in,

That one death was not one, never will be,

One death, taken by its own, was a million deaths before a burnt-down house, was once a home.

A home that survived a million lives through kindness and love and warmth,

A home that dreamt and wished and hoped,

A home that cherished..

But I.

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