I’ve killed myself many times over, but

I look remorselessly alive; or perhaps a shifting corpse at best?

I’ve looked myself in the mirror many times over;

Each time a little less miserable and more poised;

Pretences in dramatic crystal frames?

I’ve killed myself over little whiles and aeons;

Each time in violence, tears or fazed lulls.

I’ve killed many a self; in numbed pains, empty rooms and in disgrace,

Will I not wake before I sink again?

I’ve fought many a fight, slumped on my knees; yet stumbled ahead to light,

Will I not wake before I die again?

Many a broken cup have I shelved, until they began to resonate me;

Glazed shards, hastily glued together, ringing out a haunting monotony;

Found in night’s slow death and deathless churchyards.

Draw a curtain over the looking glass;

I’ll rest awhile before I bite the dust again.

Picture Courtesy: Fey Marin/Unsplash.com



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