E., age 21. Illinos.
I want to say I thought about it,
but I didn’t.
I want to say I had the knife at my
wrist, and I almost didn’t do it.
But that’s not what happened.
What happened is I got sick of it
sick of being scared all the time.
I wanted the panic to leave my chest.
So I let the blade sink in,
I dragged it across and watched,
numb, as the skin turned white and
Releasing the Soul
To pass the time, I write.
Try to purge everything negative out of me;
make the paper the one to suffer all
the pain, the sadness, the cruelty
of this world.
I write so that maybe I can stop
the feelings inside of me from
building up and bursting out
like they have done so many times before.
I write because the one goal I’ve found to strive for
in these most unwilling days,
is that eventually I will be the one
There is a force inside of me
itching to destroy.
I have this innate attraction to self-destruction.
But maybe writing it down
is like letting it go,
and words will be the one thing that