Decisions on the edge of a knife




The wrist concealed itches for its touch, a jokingly dangerous jest for the every more deep wish to cut a few coveted strands of skin and release rivers of reddened life

In still hand it eerily rests idle of the task a threateningly fragile mood does seductively beacon forth, hollow emotions that lure faithful life to the sinking bleak as to an alcoholic does a bottle and a glass

Would he?

Could he?

Why wouldn’t he?

Ties that bind in life’s grand scheme of a joke are of two threads, the first of options we bring upon the mortally based equation by choice to seal ourselves from death, the second bound to us in the act of un-chosen arrival to the fatal play we call ‘To Live’

When the first of two threads grow straining weak the second must take unnatural weight, as to hold back a cliff sized enticement from the fall I could so easily take

“He was a good friend” follows the framing remark “but he was always a bit….”

Remorse, guilt, sadness, or would the wish to provoke such ugly emotional after effects of one’s untimely death be a socially perceived guilty want, a side affect of the corrupting depression that blends into every fated edge of a seemingly more so fated life

“How could he?” “So young” “I should have seen the signs”, not I fear the reaction an illicit shuffle from this mortal coil would emote

“Just a matter of time”…. Could you ask for anymore!

No, not yet

This a cursed battle will not claim the only faded fibre of my resistance yet, scars too deep and yet to fail the desired result hath given the message I am not so weak

Anyway, I’m a ‘Good Person’ and to kill myself would be the ultimate selfish act, he laughs!

I might be all the potential of a Grade-A A-Hole but that far? Not that fucked!!

Depression my old friend, load the pistol another day and pour me a god damn drink!!!

Life my old enemy, cupid to boot, FUCK YOU, you broke me so by all the unholy crapstorm of my continued presence on this bloody earth I will hauntingly persist to say FUCK YOU and make you feel it

“It ain’t pretty and it don’t work but if you’re damned, may as well be damned in style”
Said the Shadow to his former self



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