[noisy.]
Seconds later and still...
...all I hear is noise.
The bloody noise.
The choking noise.
The noise from the wrist.
The choreography.
The planning out,
The timing of the death.
It never happened,
It never will,
No, not truly though,
The noose itself is screaming,
And the chair itself has yelled.
The darkness of the red,
Surprises me as always.
The windows from behind,
Seem to be watching from afar.
I loathe it.
I loathe it.
I really, really do.
My mind is a trap,
In which I must clink.
Clink.
Clink the cup against the cell,
And cry, and cry, and cry.
Cry for the drink.
Cry for the pill.
And cry for the metal bars that seem to wither to wood.
The weakening noise.
The clinking noise.
The noise from the cup.
Years later and still...
...all I hear is noise.
YOU ARE READING
Still Sane
Poetry"... But that's okay, because despite all of this, I am still sane."
