Rochester Writers Association

I wake up, stretching wiping sleep from my eye,

No smiles, Just tears battering my cheeks when I cry,

What’s life? I ponder, as I gaze at a pic,

Memories they cut deeper, then a slice or a nic,

No stitches are strong enough, to close this wound,

My heart torn to pieces, im engulfed in gloom,

What’s the prognosis? Will I live or die?

Should I end it now? One shot from a colt forty five?

Suicide just an option, for those who can’t bounce & cope,

Ask my father, he chose to go with a 40oz and rope,

He left the moral blueprint, not your typical map to success,

A way out , when you don’t want to deal with the stress,

I sit there and sigh, my thought’s met by a light knock on the door,

I jump up and start, shoving my pity party in the end table drawer,

My heart races, “she still loves me”, she wants to start speaking,

Open swings the door, reality hits, false alarm it’s only housekeeping.