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Escaping Their Parade

Poetry By: Shea Ryhai
True confessions



When I left my previous site, I left to the regret of many but the joy of a few. I took a stand against suicide, and more personally, against people who claimed they could take others pain away and help them resist suicide when these same Messiah's would weeks later end up in a hospital after another failed attempt. I was bashed quite a lot for my position. Apparently saying suicide is a bad thing isn't appreciated by the people "resisting" it. I left because I wanted to be able to write works that weren't always focused on death. After the sucidie of my friend I wrote a poem 'Me Vs Suicide' and was crucified for it by the same group of "life savers" on quizilla. I fought back as I always do, but they never tired of tearing into me and even went so far as to claim my friend "Beth" killed herself because of me.
After realizing I could no longer write anything that did not somehow come back to death I became totally digusted with the site, and after the helpful encouragement went looking for a new home. That is how I came to Booksie. Hope you enjoy the poem.


Submitted:Jan 15, 2010    Reads: 141    Comments: 16    Likes: 8   


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My Escape

by SheaRyhai (c) 2009

Crumpled pages pile up,

in a corner defiant.

Mind and heart rage against,

a soul of calm and quiet.

Let go. Letting go.

Just move on once again.

Alien fingers curl tight,

clinging to this pen.

Pushed around. Pushed back,

and then made my escape.

Haunting thoughts followed me,

would this be a mistake.

Memories of bloody words,

and hyprocratic claims.

Sickened at the thought of these

Messiah's with no shame.

Was it enough to take a stand

and every punch they threw?

Who was I escaping Beth?

Was it them or was it you?

Trying to pull my mind

from this suicidal fog.

Let them claim to be Jesus,

what person claims their God?

Fool me once, but not again.

Fool yourself for a life.

I would rather live for love,

then survive holding a knife.

Your parade of last goodbyes,

that span over three years.

I pity reality when you meet,

and your confusion clears.

I know I shouldn't say-,

but I've been Happy gone.

Can't make it through a life of pain,

I'm still living proof you're wrong.

Having nothing else to live for,

but another deathly note.

If I mailed a letter stamped three years

you'd still read what I wrote.

Yes I'm capable of pity,

but your life line I can't be.

What kind of life is that

when I can never live for me?

The right path forward

was the one leading away.

I might look back from time to time,

and I might even pray.





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