January 8, 2018.

to the god of death

Dear Thanatos,


I send this in despair but also in hope that you're doing well.
The nights are so long these days and mornings are so short.
No breeze or river could quench my deprived tongue's hell.
I drink, and drink but still suffer and continue to pour.


I look at these people who say this boils down to attitude.
Others who claim that I just need to get myself to church and leave my problems to God.
And the few who just say I should go back to therapy.

Is it all just that easy; have I been doing things all wrong?


I can't put off these feelings anymore.
They rise so quickly like my father's temper.
Crashing and burning, leaving their marks plastered all over my skin.
I've never felt this much unbearable, pure self hatred before.


I hear my laptop's keys critizing myself after every letter now.
Mirrors have been mocking me with this person I don't even recognize.
I feel so alone; I feel so desperate for something to change.
But the only thing that evolves is my self blame.


Heavy conscious, heart on the sleeve, empathetic night terror that I call "me".
I question a lot lately; I don't feel the need to really be here.
For some people that can sound pretty scary,
but I've felt these feelings this intensely times before.


So I turn to you, I suppose.
You've took so much of my heart already with every loss you throw.
Why not take it's beat, why not take my soul?
I barely live and I'm not very frightened at the thought of letting myself go.


I'm sure we'll talk again.

Your very best friend,

Poetry by aidan haskel
Read 85 times
Written on 2018-01-09 at 05:34

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A very powerful and evocative piece.
Made me think.
Thanks for sharing.