knife_edge
Content warning: Suicidal Ideation
This was written some time after a mental breakdown. The views expressed do not reflect my current mental state or my views. I am perfectly fine.
i suppose the last time
i stood on the edge was
when i nearly failed a
one credit course
and the time before that
was a long walk on
a razors' edge // so many years
back, in high school, dying slowly with each passing day
but this time was different
in the past, i would fantasize
about loading a handgun
resting it on my temple and //
waking up to a safe
reality, through burdened with
melancholy so severe i neglected
everything but rest
within reach now.
i knew that half a gram
of potassium cyanide or
a twelve gauge through the mouth
so close, yet so far away.
i stare at the jug and contemplate
perhaps a half gram stowed in an ampoule
sealed away
i wonder where my gun is
i swear my roommate is
holding onto my beloved shotgun
as i cling to life
the ammunition is in the drawer//
i hold the jug and read:
TOXIC. CALL POISON CONTROL IF INGESTED.
i notice and feel
a few grains of crystalline
dust on my trembling hands
i think to lick my fingers
tears roll down my cheeks
logic isn't driving now.
its beyond over
i'm going to fail my pchem exam
there is no future //
overworked.
slipping behind
all thew assignments
can't get out of bed
overbearing.
a deep sorrow with every
creeping thought
intruding into the conscious
overwhelming.
tears rolling down my face
darkness welling up
and flowing out the eyes //
i wash my hands
not tonight. there's so much more to
live for // hopelessness in the moment
a permanent solution to a temporary problem
and so on and so forth.
none of this matters.
and maybe it never does.
but I haven't even said my goodbyes.
that's how they stop you.
saying goodbye forces intervention
but leaving without word
is tragically rude //
so i stood alone on a knife's edge, and told no-one
that night, i decided to seek rest
since there was no sense in leaving
until my name is called.
a miracle of God, that
nothing lined up that day
looking back, I wonder why
or perhaps how
i don't know how I made it out that night.
i don't know what happened when i made it home that night.
i told my roommate to hold onto my gun, no matter what i say
and quietly lied my way to my room
and i lay in bed, and decided to stay
because there was a little window of hope
waiting for me after //
the long quiet