Suicide
This room is
all I have now,
These four
corners are the only shields I feel while asleep.
These windows
are the only eyes I see;
Covered with
red eyelids,
I could still
feel them dance with the midnight wind.
As I cry every
night for the recovery of my broken dream,
These white reddish
walls are the only ears that hear me weep against their comfort.
That corner,
Where I used to
sit and count all the priceless moments with friends,
I still crawl
there,
And count my
valuable losses all alone.
As I stare
through my room’s eyes,
Past the
thickness of the steamed glass through the galaxy I used to pick my stars in;
I leaned my
left palm against my head,
As troubled as
I am,
I wished to
withdraw a thought right in my head to help me restructure my broken dream.
I see myself in
that shallow corner yet again,
Soul searching
with this broken face,
I find to be a
black young man;
Whose purpose
was to turn every black stone into gold,
Whose words was
to mend the broken hearts,
Whose lips was
to bring closure to the lost soul,
Whose hand has
to reach out to those in need,
I am a total
failure.
Down here on
this uncarpeted cold floor,
On this corner,
Face against
these silent walls,
I find myself
speaking to this foundation in a different tongue.
I’m in need;
it’s a dream I’m seeking.
As I crawl to
another dimension,
In this same
isolated world,
In this room,
crying and crying,
Hoping these
walls would say something with hope;
But it’s the
silence and the echo of my breath I’m getting in response.
This is a cold
world,
My mind will
always be stuck between these perimeters.
There is no
other way out besides the deadly rope hanging from my lamp.
By: Ts Mashile
