Back From the Crept

Back From the Crept

by BritNoonan

 

Health issues crippled me in the past ten months,

near comatose with bitter content I spent my days in a fog.

struggling to find the dreams that once seemed sensible,

while fools distracted precious time with their suicidal charms,

Now, alone, I vulnerably start over, a virgin in the arts,

unsure if the damage had already outlived my creativity ,

having the talent to express what I wish to accomplish,

failure’s possibility is high but only fools fear its pleasure.

Can I get out of the love affair with failure and befriend success,

or will I succumb to the sadistic game of a dying clock,

whose time seems to stall, a delusion of the reality,

of actually speeding with no brakes without realizing,

leading to a deadly collusion with other fools coned as well?

Still, regardless of the clock’s smirk and failure’s gleam,

I will reach for success even with a noose around my neck,

and continue writing regardless how little talent I possess.

 

(this slightly depressive poem is the result of the mixture of a melancholic movie with jetlag and injuries. Once you realize that time will run out, you tend to get more motivated to successfully accomplish your goals, even if there is no possibility of success, because once death collects you, you can never come back to finish what you never started or stopped working on)

Morning Thoughts.

This is a poem about my friend who keeps talking about wanting to kill herself and my fears that one day she will get her wish and leave behind not only me, her friend, but her family, her boyfriend, and others who love her.  Its pretty dark but I hope you enjoy:

Morning Thoughts.

How crazy that yesterday felt like a dream,

with laughter and movies and cardgames,

creepypastas videos and scary dreams,

filled with coca-cola and greasy food.

We were happy yesterday, you and I,

and we talked about our dreams for the future,

of grander and importance,

of richness and frame that all craves,

we were going to show the world wrong.

 Today spills the end of the future,

as you drove the knife into your arm,

trying to destroy a life too delicate to keep,

not caring about those who care.

We were best friend that been through a lot,

you were kicked to the streets without a care,

I was a loner who enjoyed her time alone,

but always wished I had more friends to talk to.

Still dreams about a better future motivated,

we had each other to lean on for emotional support,

I just never knew you would let a man destroy you,

by allowing yourself to blindly fall into a unhealthy love,

and thus driving you closer to a destructive state.

The third attempt  was the last straw,

I watch you fall closer to death everyday,

the scar on your wrist is a painful reminder,

one that I have to prepare for,

someday you will succeed.

And on this sunny morning,

laying on my bed and staring at the ceiling,

I kind of wish I never met you,

just so when you do succeed,

it won’t hurt me.

I learn to stop begging you,

I learned to stop asking,

I learned to enjoy the time we have left,

but still I feel like begging one more time,

just please stay alive for me.