Awake, but not Alive

tumblr_m7plxjtVUs1r1yi9co1_500A night ago, he stood awake

Unconscious of the sounds around.

His head felt numb, as if it fell

And tumbled all around the ground.

 

The city was awake, like him.

Two pieces of blurring puzzle.

The hate, the love, the mingling feels

The killing teeth in a hound’s muzzle.

 

What was his word to shout into the world?

He had often wondered of that too.

But mostly it was loss he knew

Despair most times. That was a shrew.

 

The life was sickening and hard

He felt like strangling in his sleep.

Sick of it all, sick and tired.

He would have killed to get some sleep.

 

It was too much for him to ask.

The faces haunted him at dusk

And only set at dawn’s first light.

So much for peaceful, fearless nights.

 

His head felt heavy. He turned to the snow

That covered his window in an armor of cold.

He stabbed the naked ice with fists of iron

And hinges of stainless and bittersweet steel.

 

The truth was lying behind the mirror of winter.

He sent a crack from the corners to the side.

The city, awake under the broken vision,

Grinned at him with a smile, that seemed terribly sly.

 

Sick of it. Sick. I’m sick and sick and sick.

He could have burned it all without a glance.

But stone was ice. An enemy long frozen.

How could he hope such thing with no chance?

 

The river blushed fiercely under his watch.

And his feet pushed themselves up the sill.

Sick of it. Sick. Yet it had all been ice

And the water was dark and sticky, as if ill.

 

His knees let go. He knew not when.

He felt the kiss of wind around him.

The touch of water never reached  his mind.

His heart let out and met its pair

In a hell he had sent it

Out of despair.

 

*Felt like writing something, but unsure what. Too tired to be serious, too tired to be fun. This is an original poem, made on spot 10 minutes ago. I think I have a whole book of poetry on suicide by now… Anyways, hope you liked it.

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