Suicide

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