Monday, October 10, 2011

on B's birthday

We few, we medicated few, 
dedicated to the fight for survival. 

We few, we suicidal few, 
who ponder death as others choose their salad. 

We few, we desperate few,
who don't admit it, because we don't want to be dramatic. 

A self-censoring response,
to minimalise or marginalise our pain. 
It feels so out of place, 
so difficult to be taken seriously, 
until we 'do something about it'. 

"Do you have a plan,
to harm yourself or others?"

Covered for insurance purposes. 

I'm a quick strategic thinker, 
I could develop a plan
to turn my nightmare visions into reality. 

But I don't. 

Because I don't need to. 

You sit on the lid, 
keeping that darkness inside the box. 
Not unleashing it on me. 

But I understand when the few, 
the medicated/un-medicated, 
decimated, hopelessly hopeful few do. 

We ask, 
do not hurt or betray us. 

Take our shattered hearts
and give us new, clean, whole ones. 


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