To Wish for Death…

Depression comes and goes,

I feel it, then I don’t, but when I do,

It is so hard not to wish for death,

Do I leave myself to my fate?

Or do I bring forth my fate sooner?

Hearing myself cry out in dreams,

Putting myself in the path of raging streams,

Streams of blood, streams of death,

Drowning do I in streams of steam…

Pain is the tortured end of a torturers dream,

Must I end it all this way, or become tortured in the extreme?

Sometimes to love life is hardly an option,

For a tortured death may just be my adoption…

Life is short; to make it shorter is karmically unsound,

I find myself unable to take my own life,

But therein I may be able to end that life with little strife,

No, not by the ax or bow, not even the knife,

To drive off a cliff, to walk in front of a train,

Either of which will bring to a swift end this life of strain…

But for Rufuz, I would already have met,

My maker, my Satan, my god, lest I forget,

Thank goodness for that wonderful dog,

He makes me remember and recall, what life has to offer,

So here in my personal coffers,

I try to stay alive each day a little longer…

Do I have the will to make tomorrow a yesterday?

Or next week, a week past; or more?

Living day by day, till another month has become past,

Need though I may, more help than I can muster,

Would rather die a hero, if that were what he was, like that of Custer…

So don’t pity me dear reader,

As pity may just enhance my strength of will,

To do the wrong thing, to find in myself the power to kill…

                                    © ed – 6/10/04