A/n: I wrote this at two o’clock in the morning while I was really hyper on my medicine, so I ask you to forgive anything odd you may find about this. Oh, and this isn’t speaking from experience.  I am depressed, yes, but far from suicidal.

Oh, yes, and anything in parentheses isn’t actually necessary for the poem, but it is part of it.

Suicidal Dream

I watched the sun set,

Destroying itself in a haze of beautiful glory,

Only to be replaced soon after

With a vision of beauty

Created by the distance

Between the Earth

And the stars I longed to touch.

But that was all before I became what I detest,

A monster who’s only glory rests

Within destroying myself again and again,

In vain hope that I will become pure.

(Yet, as I take this blade to my wrist

To destroy myself for the last time,

I think of those days so long agao,

When I desired only to touch the stars.)

It causes me to wonder

How it had all become so bad,

And I realize suddenly

That all I desired to touch

Could easily be within my reach,

If only I refuse to give up.

So now I put this soiled blade down,

And wash away the blood of my own destruction,

In turn washing away the Evil

I created within myself.

(I step back into the sunlight,

No longer afraid of being burned to ashes,

And vow never to destroy myself again.)