Long Life Of War

About a boy who suffers from depression and self-harm.

All alone the lights are off

The only way he sees is the sun 

Gleaming through the three little windows 

Along the far wall

He slowly opens the zippier

Carefully, so no one knows

He slides your hand into the leather pocket

His adrenalin starts to go

Faster

And Faster

As his hand feels around for the small piece of metal

A sting to his index finger

He found what you were looking for

Our comes a chain

But what is one it

Is so much more

Slowly lifting his shirt

The blade finds his hip

As its slowly pulled along

The bubbles start to form

When he's done he grabs some toilet paper

Hand in bag once more

He find the tape

He always has

And patched up the never ending scar

As he leaves with a fake smile on his face

His friends not suspicious at all

In his eyes

One might realize

Is the fear 

Of a long life of war

Reviews

[Patrick Henry]

It's beautiful. It's dark, but there are parts of me that will always find the darkness as safe harbor for me. The fact that someone even has a clue he does this, is foreign to me. I kept all things like this a secret from those around me. It wasn't a "god-fearing" thing for me in my youth. it was more that if I kept it secret, I could do it for longer, and not feel alien to others because of it. Society did that FOR me. How convenient that I consider "society" to be that of what my age group was, and not the parts of it that showed me amazing opportunities and help within it because I wasn't looking for it the right way!! : ) The part where the boy stings his fingers on the blade is crazy to me. lol Being as reckless as storing it there is a recipe for OTHERS getting harmed, also!! It's not rational to do so. I know I wasn't supposed to, but even when I would skateboard, sometimes I would bring my machete' and hang it from a chain I had, or bring my push daggers that were attached to my belt buckle or in a necklace. Everyone I knew had guns, but when you see your friends get shot and murdered in front of you, you try to steer away from being in that position again if you can help it. The beginning of the poem has this curious swing to it, like you're being lulled inside a beat, and then you can hear and see what you MEANT to write...... about relating to the boy that does this. xoxo -Mark

[StatAnimalLover]

Thank you so much, no one knows that the boy does this. I'll explain that to your privately. And I know how you feel about having a friend die and not wanting to happen again.

[N!LoC]

oh my..... i know something about depression .... but nothing as deep as this... :-(

[StatAnimalLover]

Thank you and today it got worse! Don't you love not having any friends and having everyone lie to you and having them hate you? It's a magical feeling when there's nothing you can do about it. I try so hard to be a good person and yet everything is always my fault in the end, everything bad that is. If it's good, it's not my fault, some one else will take the blame.

[N!LoC]

Hey! It's never a bad thing to try and be a good person ... Lord knows there aren't many good people I know nowadays... Whatever u r going through ... Just smile.. Things will get better ;-)

[StatAnimalLover]

The problem is, is that I try so hard to be a good person I want to be, but I'm just not.

[marker_c]

Beautifully written, its amazing how alone one can feel while as you said 'friends not suspicious at all'. People are there. But have no idea.

[StatAnimalLover]

Thank you.