The Place Beyond The hills

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

A short poem I wrote about depression from a point of view I identify with. Please note that I am not condoning suicide, and those things are not good I advise that if you are feeling depressed you should seek help from a medical professional. Mild trigger warning for the topics, however no graphic content included.

The place beyond the hills


I used to think my destiny would lead me beyond the hills

To a place with an endless sea of Daisies

With a immortal blue bird sky

A land with an easel and a blank canvas

Aching for color to be dispersed on its skin

The temperature would be perfect

Visual and emotional equilibrium 

It would smell clean and fresh

Crisp like an early spring morning 

Sweet like a peach tree

An endless realm locked in an eternity

Alive or dead my destiny would bring me there

Yet that will not happen


My reality is evil

A room with no doors or windows

Walls with chipped grey paint

Somehow the light matches the consternation filled grey

The smell is foul and withered

It fluctuates between as cold as an empty night on the mountain

And as hot as the bowels on hell

My friends went to find their own place beyond the hills

But they left me in this room with no way out

But there is a way out


In this room the world forgot

There is a single furnishing

A cold metal table

And on that table rests a black satin pillow

With a lone razor blade gleaming

Yearning to taste my flesh and blood

That's when I realize

I have a choice in life

But this abhorrent choice leads to the inevitable end of my existence


I can end it all

Have this grey room vanish 

Throw myself into the abyss 

Have it swallow me in its darkness

All without a clue of what will come of it

An immediate ending to this bleak miserable life

All with a single blade


Or I can stay 

I can breathe the rotten air until my body decays

I can lead this miserable life until my body and mind give up 

Until they become one with the hideous grey walls

But a door could appear

Arise from the floor

And lead to the great unknown 

A place explored by none yet conquered by all


I stare at the chipping paint and close my eyes 

I breathe 

And set the future in stone

My choice is made



Submitted: March 10, 2017

© Copyright 2022 Connie Doitch. All rights reserved.

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An excellent description of the despair felt when life just seems to have passed you by. Good job with this poem!

Fri, March 10th, 2017 4:53pm

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