I wrote this one when I was in a bad place mentally. If any of you don’t know I am bi-polar and have many ups and downs in my life. Well, mostly downs as I have bi-polar 2 where the mania doesn’t come along as much as bi-polar 1.
I wasn’t sure if I should post it or not, mostly beacuse I didn’t want people to think I am currently in the same head space as the poem but after a week or so of going back and forth, I decided that it would be good to get it out there.
Even if it’s just to raise awareness for mental health, I dunno… It’s not like this page is far reaching or has any influence.
I apologise that it is quite graphic and if any of you don’t like descriptions of self harm or blood then please, stop reading now. Again, it took me a long time to think that people would want to read this so, here it is in all its raw glory.
The Last Attempt.
Dark red spreads over white.
Droplets of claret splash
against the porcelain.
Slowly staining the sink a
murky dark brown.
The steady flow of blood seeps
from deep wounds from forearm
to wrist.
Teeth grit as the serrated edge
frees once tight flesh
from itself.
As the blade delves deeper,
pain seems to lift momentarily.
Almost instantly,
the heavy dark cloud returns.
Pulling the troubled mind back down,
further into the depths.
Hopelessness, despair, hatred.
It all rushes back even
worse than before.
“Not long now” they think.
Wild slashes increase the flow.
What were once droplets, now begin to
pool in the centre of the shallow,
discoloured sink.
Gashes give way to a river
of pumping red.
Suddenly legs give way, no longer
able to support the weight of
the distraught soul.
The fall is painless. The mind is occupied
with other thoughts.
Wondering how it got to this place as
the eyes become transfixed on the white ceiling.
Darkness begins to creep into their vision,
fraying the edges as focus blurs.
Heart beat slows, colour fades.
Blackness takes them as the
world outside continues in ignorance.
Craig Storrie 