At Death’s Door

I was struggling to sleep last night and I came up with the start of this poem. Some memories and feelings have cropped up recently, which reminded me of how I felt a few months ago and how desperate I was to end my life then. Things have changed now; I don’t necessarily feel the same way about taking my own life, but I thought these words expressed my thoughts and feelings from that time.


I tried to take my life today,
But, again, I failed.
Just like every other time I picked up a knife,
Or stepped in front of a car,
I never prevailed.
Why? I hear you ask;
Why not just remove the pain?
But the memories that torture me –
Taint my thoughts and my feelings –
I keep living them over again.
The pain of dying is beyond compare
To recalling each vivid moment.
The good, the bad and the ugly;
The smiles, the tears and the heartbreak;
I can’t withstand all that torment.
Just like the icing on the cake,
Life has made mine turn to mould.
Every day brings a new form of misery,
Every week, more times of adversity.
My blood is already starting to run cold.
I try to be better;
I keep pushing to be good.
But everytime I fall short of the bar,
Dishearten and afflict onlookers in my life,
They declare that’s best I could.
But believe me, I can be better.
Every day, I keep on trying.
The climb is higher than ever,
But the fall is much greater.
It is worse than the pain of dying.

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