semicolon

a feeling drags the body down, deep into the abyss of darkness. retreat into thyself, into the abyss of the soul. sit there, legs hanging off the bed, eyes locked onto nothing, mind running too fast or saying the same thing slowly.

the mind wants tears to come, but the body has no more to give. eyes dry, mouth screaming, gaping hole aching in thy chest, the body shuts down, wanting to do no more.

the legs and feet move slowly, like a turtle, trudging against the hard floor, to the room where so much has happened. reaching for the handle, cold and smooth against thy palm.

the silver surface on the wall reflects the world’s view, red face, empty eyes, messy hair.

hands fumble for the familiar sharpness, mind knowing that this moment could always be the last.

back against the wall, body sliding down to sit on the floor, cold tile embracing the legs.

the blade pricks the skin, blood blossoming like flowers in the spring, running down the skin of the wrist, like a river coursing over rocks and dripping onto the white tile

eyes look up, familiar white looking back, pain erupting, spreading up the arm like a wildfire.

smoke dances on the edges of vision, the haziness fogging the mind.

relief is felt, but the sick mind cries for more pain, more relief, for what else could make this aching hole better?

the door with the cold, smooth handle bursts open, and a figure appears. the tears the sick body couldn't produce are made by the figure.

the blade is taken from the sick body and thrown in the bin where all rubble goes.

blood still babbles like the creek, but a cloth, like a large stone, stops the river from flowing.

help in the form of a screaming van and kind, sad eyes is called.

the smoke has overtaken the vision, now the mind sees nothing but black, and the body, unresponsive, refuses to move.

the body is taken to the clean place that smells like cleaning products and is taken to be poked and prodded right away.

the body, still as unresponsive as the mind, is pumped with blood from a stranger, the clean people hoping to fix what was lost by the sick mind.

finally, hours later, the body, and the mind, wake up.

the tears that couldn't be produced earlier, are produced now, but in confusion.

the sick mind wanted to die, yet the others wouldn't let it.

why the sick mind asks, why are you trying so hard to keep me alive?

but then, an outside figure tells them that they are loved, and other figures do care about them.

the mind doesn't understand at first but then, they get it a little bit. maybe others do care for them. maybe they are loved.

and they realize, maybe things aren't the best right now, and maybe they won't be alright tomorrow, but it will be ok in the future.

and then the mind realizes life is like a semicolon, it's okay to pause for a minute to recover and take a break to think, but, life has to continue eventually;