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Death Skipped Me

The silent car ride,
The tearful eyes
The day I finally died inside.

The blood soaked wrist
And the glistening knife
Were the things that
Should have ended my life.

They rushed me off
To the hospital that night
A place for people
Who lived in fright

The horrific white walls
The tensions cold air
The children crying out
In their pain and wear

The dark room
My roommate and I kept
Was the one that haunted me
Every night when I slept.

The blood that was drawn
I still painfully lack
It haunts me these days
To ever look back.

Ten therapy sessions
Each day and night
So overwhelming
I wanted to fight.

The bolted windows
The locked doors
The imprisoned children
In the psychiatric ward

Letters from loved ones
Saying I love you so much
Them saying they need me
And miss me and such

I open the closet
In the bedroom
So plain
The door filled with
Carvings and drawings
And names

A phrase carved into
That old wooden door
It read Kelly died here
And I could not ignore

To this day I wonder
If that Kelly is alright
If she has fun with friends
Or has sleepless nights

I remember that day
With the glistening knife
The blood soaked wrist
And the horrible life

I still walk on
With my head held high
As I think of the
Day I died inside.

 

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“This poem is true.”

  Kerry Waddingham