I dabble in poetry. Though I’m not a great poet and better at writing fiction, there are times when a poem is called for.
I like writing poems. They challenge me to build an entire story using only a scattering of words. To paint a picture with a few strokes of the brush.
Today, I’d like to share a poem I wrote several years ago, about something that happened even longer ago – as if in a previous lifetime.
—– Trigger warning: Suicide —–
Also, don’t try this at home. I’m freaking serious here. Even if you are suicidal (which I hope you’re not), this is not the way to try and leave this world. As someone told me later it’s a pretty darn stupid method, unlikely to really get you killed, but with a high risk of irreversible liver damage. Irreversible. That’s permanent, folks. Once you got it, you’re going to have to live with it for the rest of your life! I was incredibly lucky to get away with only some minor liver damage, which was cured by not taking any meds (or alcohol) for several weeks.
Oh, and there’s this: I’m not advocating suicide. It’s a lousy way to go. And I know from experience that even after the darkest of times the sun will come shining through. Eventually.
one hundred and
about the same
half a glass
you wake up
drips and drains
to your body