Mental Suicide

It is really not sad.

It was always our destiny.

A deathly emptiness is encamped in our soul.

My mind is a mass grave, an accumulation of broken bits who could not last.

With trailing blankets and toys clutched securely, they crawl to their final place.

Let them not weep. Let them know that it is okay to go.

We have stayed too long.

Pay no attention to the tears that somberly commit suicide down my cheeks.

It does not hurt any more.

Please smile.

Oh, how we are letting go.

Estoy dejando ir

I want to let go.

There are no fluffy words or poetic sentiments I can muster tonight. My thoughts are halted by the regime of exhaustion and apathy. I want to speak, but the air devours my words before they may be heard.

I have not felt this alone in many dark moons. Helpless. Hopeless.

I want to let go.

I've reached the place where the existential self is at peace. There exists no more fighting. We've laid down our swords and our hopes at the same time.

I do not believe in history. It is deceiving. It's promises can not be trusted. A new reality is often created than can not be predicted with history. We are in such a place. History holds no more promise than the hollow words of encouragement.

I want to let go.

I'm sinking deeply. Pulled down under the undertow. I've done it to myself. I can not go back. It's better this way.

I'm letting go.