An Inch From Death (Writing)A Poem by Damien DavisonThis is true and it took a lot to write about...WARNING: I didn't make the 'audience setting' 'mature', but this is a story about a time I was about to kill myself at the end of my addiction. It clearly ends nicely, but I go in to detail. Contains drugs, coarse language, and mature content. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I sit alone. Waiting... Anticipating their arrival. Three shells on the table, two lines of coke, and my cigarette in the ash tray; I hold the shotgun with a feeling of complete emptiness. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I lost it all, I fell harder than ever, Then I realized I needed to make it right. So I admitted myself to detox. Then what did I do? I left early. Because while I was in there, the guy who left this hopeless, unstable coke head alone with a shotgun, was held up at gun point while three guys rushed in to his house, trashing it to s**t and stealing everything they could. So I left detox to be there for my 'brotha' My 'boys' Strapped and ready to retaliate with a raging vengeance. I mean, they took his PS3... It was where he had stored the only pictures of his dead son. I felt bad for the guy. And of course, the coke I was supplied kept me loyal... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I take a line with a metal tube that goes with my tattoo machine. I sniff deep. Tasting the coke in my throat; Savoring it and welcoming the numb. I begin to... Weep. I've fallen so many times... Just to be lifted up smashed down by the other me. This me. I grab the cigarette from the ash tray and light it. The shotgun is resting on my lap. I'm slouched in defeat. I'm done. I'm spent. I really don't want my daughter to know me or see me as what I am now. What I've always really been... For nine f*****g years I've been sad... Feeling a void I need to fill. Finding escape at every turn. I take a look at the shells and weep harder... The handle of the shotgun is resting on the ground now. I lean back and bring it close to examine it. I can't shake this pain. Why is it selfish for me to want to end my suffering, when you will only suffer cause YOU miss me. I crack the gun open and stare down the empty barrels. Then aim my sight at the shells on the table. ' AHHHHHHHHH!!! I'm screaming inside and out, why do I have to be the way I am. What is wrong with me? A wave of depression like I have never experienced washes over my soul. This is it. This is the end. I have to do this for my family, she will find the right man to raise my daughter... I know she will. I'm not him... I'm nothing. Just a piece of s**t! A complete waste of space causing everyone grief... They all want to see me do good, but when have I ever for long? I grab one of the shells on the table and stick it in the left barrel of the open 12-gauge. I'm ready to end this. Now... I slam the gun shut, making my heart jump... I stick the butt of the shotgun on the floor, reaching past it to take that last line. The white powder kicks my head back, and I sniff as deep as I can to get the most of it. I feel cold, but I'm sweating. I'm shaking and the palms of my hands and feet are soaked. I move the shotgun ahead so I can angle it in to my mouth. Everyone deserves better I don't deserve this suffering. I can't stand it any longer. I hate life SO F*****G MUCH! I open my mouth, c**k the shotgun, and tilt it towards my brain. The cold steel pushes fear through my teeth. I place my thumb on the trigger... Just an inch away. As another tear rolls down my face, And snot from coke reaches the barrel. I realize in that moment of time That I don't want to die... I just want to be happy.
© 2012 Damien DavisonAuthor's Note
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