I could die, but I don't care
Sadly my life is not my own
And if I talked like that around my
They'd lock me down inside my home
It's not my life so much, you see
Because I've given it away
And now those I promised to love forever
Are holding me to what I say
So here I sit, dejected
Drinking water, eating greens
Trapped inside this same old house
'Cause they want me to quarantine
Can't eat those sweets
Can't drink that booze
Can't hoard my coffee
Can't hit that snooze
Can't run amok
Can't run astray
Can't run downtown
Can't run away
I didn't mean it literally
However their interpretation's fair
If I don't stick around to love them
How can I prove I really care?
I don't wear seatbelts anymore. Maybe it's to make up for a rebellious nature I've never had, or maybe I just don't like constructing my lungs anymore than they already are.
I lean too far over the edge of bridges and stare too long outside my mother's window on the twentieth floor of her office building. I don't shy away from the thought of flattening against the car parallel parked below; I invite the feeling of weightlessness to take over.
I let my bicycle almost careen over the ledge, almost pull me into the ditch, almost barrel into the stop sign. I think I just want to know if the car will stop for me if I pull out slow enough. And sometimes I wonder if I'll ever let myself hit the sign.
I used to wrap my curtains around my neck and tightrope walk along the foot of my bed. Once, I fell and sprained my ankle. I didn't tell anybody how it happened.
I used to hold onto the top of my dresser to see if it would fall on me. I would hang upside down until the blood rushed to my head because I liked the feeling. I would stop eating for a day, so I could pretend I was in the Jamestown colony. I would hold white crayons to my lips and wonder about lung cancer. I would hold my breath until my face turned blue.
I don't want to die, not really. It's just that sometimes I wouldn't care if I did.
I could die but I don't care. At least I'll be free & I could finally spread my wings & fly.
Death, is Rather Curious
Because, speaking philosophicaly,
It would not mater should I live or die
Death is a fact of life, that is true,
And yet, we seem very afraid of it.
Come now, reasonable minds of great,
Realize that death is inevitable.
For truly, should I die this second,
It is only a death that is slightly
Sooner than what I would have preferred.
A billion years from now, it will
Not have mattered should I live or die,
To perish, because time will forget all.
Must be the heat II
Little more than a year ago, I wrote, Must be the heat in which I expressed my shock and dismay at all the little furry (and feathery) creatures in the area appearing to commit suicide. (You can read it here - https://theprose.com/post/282706/must-be-the-heat.) Well, I am unhappy to report that evidence of my hypothesis is piling up (no pun intended): As summer heats up, animals are attempting suicide left and right, yet again.
As I noted in my earlier report, I am not talking about the confused creatures who are too impatient to sit and wait until there are no vehicles coming, or who are oblivious because they are chasing a friend or foe, or who cannot judge the velocity of an oncoming car and so scamper across, thinking they have all the time of the world. Nor do I mean the dare-devil birds trying to prove they can fly faster than we can drive.
I am talking about the heart sick – or heat sick – critter who, rather than swiftly fleeing to the safety of the side of the road – a garden, the forest, the sidewalk for goodness sake – instead, moseys to the center of the road and sits there. Or who deliberately waits at the side of the road until a car is coming and then, when death seems to be the only possible outcome, takes off.
Like the goose sitting in the middle of the street Saturday morning. All the other geese were sunning by the side of the lake. Was he ostracized? Unloved? Did he lose a battle for dominance? Something must have happened. Not only was he not waddling. He wasn’t moving. He just sat there, daring the cars. When one car looked to take the dare, my husband ran into the street. He was scarier than a moving car, I guess. The goose flew-waddled to the other side. (The car didn’t hit my crazy husband either.)
Or the robin that was sitting sadly on the side of the road until he saw a car coming, then, when the car was within five feet, decided to fly in front of it. I closed my eyes and screamed. I didn’t look back. My husband said the car missed it by inches. That was possibly a case of the bird playing chicken, but he had such a despondent air as he sat there waiting for traffic. (And now I am wondering if it was the same bird that crashed into the front window of my house a few days later. He left a mess, but apparently was not successful in that attempt either.)
Then there were the possums. Now, I have not seen a live possum in more than a dozen years. I have now seen two dead ones within a day of each other on the same stretch of road. I think maybe the first one was an accident. The second one was heartsick. I mean, you see a dead comrade, you think, hey, this is a dangerous place, I should go back, not, hey, I think I’ll cross here, too. No, definitely a suicide.
The saddest, by far, was the baby woodchuck. I mean, so young to feel so hopeless. My guess is he had lost his parents – woodchucks are the worst when it comes to safely crossing the street – and decided to follow in their footsteps. Literally. Fortunately, he was unsuccessful, at least as I stood there screaming, NOOOOOO, Don’t gooooooooo! The car he was aiming for screeched to a halt – not sure if it was because of the adorable fur ball rolling across the street or the lunatic woman screaming at the side of the road, but no matter, no suicide on my watch.
So, beware and take care: Slow down on the roads and watch out for woebegone wildlife!
A Young Man’s Death
Let me die as a passionate lover,
Eyes fixed solely on her.
Fiercely pursuing your heart from now until the end,
Remembered fondly as a lover and a friend.
Let me die for a worthy cause,
Standing against tyranny's jaws.
Enduring blow after blow without retreat,
Dying firmly on my feet.
Let me die as a good man,
Always ready to lend a helping hand.
Though evil claws at me every day,
May I never be led astray.
Let me die as a hero,
Like a Spartacus and not a Nero.
Never prolonging the end. Living honest, free and brave,
Never dying as a slave.
My intestines are in the world's tightest balloon animal. Though it didn't phase me when it happens, the old white man pointing at me sticks in my mind. I didn't do anything but exist. I was just on my way to work, like my cousin was when some guys ran up on him, took his money, and shot him dead. Of course, if anything happens to me, it would be more widely publicized. I would be on T-shirts worldwide. Al Sharpton would speak at my funeral. The old man would spend his last few weeks free since nothing would happen to him no matter what he did to me. Nonetheless, if my parents don't offer to take me to work, I will be on that same path, diligently watching my back as I trek the half-mile to my job. My peaceful walk that usually helps me relax and gather my wandering thoughts will be tinged with fear and anxiety. But, it will all worth it to get my $200 paycheck tomorrow.
I could die, but I don’t care
How could I when reality sets in
And I realize how little time I have left
How little time before I belong
To someone else
I could die, but I don’t care
Because the adrenaline makes me feel
I know I’m not
But that’s part of the fun
My mortality keeps me going
Keeps me pushing forward
Because these knees won’t be good forever
And someday my long hair
Will turn gray and coarse
I could die, but I don’t care
Because when I’m gone I won’t feel
The pain of a heartbreak
Or a scraped up knee
But those I leave behind
Will remember my free arms
Raised to the sky
Living for myself
Or a couple of risky late nights
I could die, but I don’t care
Because I’m leaving behind
A good story
I could die,
but I don’t care
I’m never good enough
but if I stay
just for today
we could fall in love.
I’d bring you tea
we could dance
and sleep and smile and run
you’ve never seen
how I could be someone
So all I want
just one request
is that when I decide
to spill my blood
and leave the world
promise that you cried.
it won’t be long now (revised)
i can’t sleep
i just shiver underneath thin sheets
my eyes closed in an attempt to
defeat the darkness surrounding me
i try desperately to breathe
but a bitter hand is choking me
i can’t see
but i know the ghosts are taunting me
my demons deepen all my wounds
manipulate my brain
as i strain to find a place
where i know i can be okay
but i am inundated with an invitation for an imitation
of the dawn
an exaggeration of a flame
a neon blaze to
they tell me
every word i ever uttered
will swiftly be undone
as long as i pledge allegiance
to the master of the dusk
i fall into the abyss
darkness seeps into my skin
i’ve given up this fight
so i let oblivion win
a fire incinerates my emaciated frame
demons i tried to escape
are grinning as they leer at my waste
of a life
i grimace softly as they jeer in my face
i try to run away but my feet burn on the coals ablaze
while the demons wrap their cracked palms around my skeleton waist
but it is an empty breath
because my mouth is filled with death
i am nothing but a hole to hold
a thousand shards of pain
suddenly i jolt awake
and glimpse a familiar face
my heart starts and i am filled with
something i can’t quite place
i hear a hidden whisper say
what you feel is grace