How Many Times?

My struggle with mental illness

Photo by Donald Giannatti on Unsplash

Trigger warning: This poem contains a reference to suicide

How many times
has the night
asked: Are you sane?

Car lights mimic prison
searchlights, sweep across
the living room window,
fade into darkness
deep as my subconscious.
I cower in a corner,
afraid to light up the sky
with a flaring prayer.

How many times
has the summer sun
asked: Are you alive?

I sit on the porch swing,
hollow and emotionless.
Sweat, like the thoughts
of the sunlight,
bead on my forehead.
Behind my eyes,
all I see are memories
of my wife and children.

How many times
has the sunset
asked: Do you still bleed?

I sit in my bathtub,
numb and powerless,
and carve at my wrist
to feel alive
with pain and death.
My demons circle,
sensing blood…