Untitled

by

Katherine Tildes

You don’t see what I see,
the ugliness inside,
the pain and hurt
I inflict.
You don’t bear witness
to any of the despair
in there,
it all hides,
burrowing further,
deeper down.

This depression is useless,
its tentacles tugging and
pulling upon me,
but never bringing me
far enough down.
I can never actually kill myself,
end it all;
I have too much to live for.
There is too much
I’ve promised to do,
too many words said,
promises made to
those left behind.

I long to feel real pains,
to have the real pressure
of ache upon my body.
I take drugs to dampen it all,
and I cut thin lines
into my wrist,
hoping to accomplish true pain.
And though I hurt and loathe,
I cannot bear to destroy it all,
to just let it die away.
Instead I suffice it with little things.
harsh words,
hatred and angsty pain.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at FOUR SEASONS
by: Paul Curtis
from: Woking, England, UK

To visit all of Katherine Tildes's poems, click HERE

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