Tuesday, 31 December 2013


Have you seen people curl when they talk about death?

Well that happens to me, but not as much as,

   that wrist on each arm, that half pound of flesh,

   that temptation of suicide, of fast pain relief.

A steel knife could end all in a minute.

And, as I’m writing this it’s making me cringe,

   it’s making me tight,

   it’s making me taught,

   it’s making my arteries swell beyond thought.

And, for my own sake, for my own health,

   I’ll stop writing now.

I’ll stop writing now.

I’ll stop writing now, it makes me confused.
I’ll stop writing now.

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