Weeds of Guilt

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


Yet another original poem, by me.

Submitted: September 20, 2018

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Submitted: September 20, 2018

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When I finally go and kill myself, don't you dare sit there and pretend we were friends.
I don't want any "flashback photograph" of us together plastered across your social media,
sported with a short and abrupt Memoriam quote, and a hashtag at the end.
Especially not when you were a nice addition to my botheration, to begin with.

If anyone of you does listen, to what I am planning to say,
I just beg them to understand the hurt that I felt, and how it came to be this very way.
I was left behind in the darkness of life, deserted on the side of the road like an unwanted pet,
wedged between two thick walls of mental ice,
I can recall the nights I viciously prayed for one single soul to hear me,
an imaginary friend, a bullying foe, or even the seemingly distant Jesus Christ.
I was nothing but isolated within my own fears, stuck between the truth and a pile of lies,
never once did anyone take notice of my oblivious mental screaming, or my desperate pleading cries.

You cannot know pain until you stare at yourself in your own reflection,
tears strolling down your face like streams, begging yourself to just hold on and have strength.
I credit you for morphing my deluded belief, causing me to realize that love doesn't exist,
or even something as simple as a caring friend,
you coached me, that just like yourself, the second I grow to trust them,
is the same exact second they all bend.

I have the sense I've been mentally abducted,
handed down a life sentence in this hollow heart of mine,
unraveling into an ivy of envy, that's beginning to twine, and
sprout the weeds of guilt, 
that reluctantly begin to quilt.
I want to apologize to the people I will damage,
with this death, I have presented,
but don't you dare ever sit there and quote around your real friends,
that you don't know anything that could've been prevented.

I have to leave now,
the room is spinning and the lights are becoming dimmer,
I can feel Death coming near, breathing "I love you,"
I envy my non-existence in a couple of seconds,
and I reply with "I love you, too."


© Copyright 2018 Andrew Patterson. All rights reserved.

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