Young Writers Society

Again I visit the sacred place I have created
Led to by my circumstantial being
With the scenario, as always, playing out
In its routine, which itself has fallen into the trap of
Predictable unpredictability.

My nose engulfed by the familiar burning
It’s aroma inviting my thoughts
To linger on the nothingness that surrounds,
That I yearn to understand and become
A part of.

I counted each pill as I laid them out on the table.
I’d taken care to arrange them along the circular line
Of the coffee stain that I hadn’t cared to treat
Or remove as its place had been made
And its eternity created

Just as before, my lips hummed the count out loud
In time with each tick of the seconds passing by.
My visits to this place had taught me of times essence
To fail yet again would be insulting
So I count an ideal twenty-three.

Each second scrapes along my throat
As dry as the tears that now sit upon my face
I do not count a second time, I just watch
As the coffee stain on the table
Reappears as each pill is taken

I rejoice as I think about my human flesh
Withering beneath the English soil
My only friends are the worms and maggots
Which I welcome into my wooden home
For I have been alone for too long

The earth has started to spin again
I had almost forgotten about these effects
A split second before it happens I remember the dark
As my head hits the floor and the pain suddenly
Seeps Into my veins and my lungs

The burning incense I once enjoyed
That had been a romantic backdrop to my demise
Now grips me fiercely by the neck
And my breath is almost empty as I notice
Someone else in the room and I recognise their coat

“NO!” I hear my sister scream as she runs to my aid
In my head I laugh at the irony that after all these years
Today had to be the day that she finally came to visit
I spent so long yearning for her company
Now I only wish that she had not come at all

There is a clear sign that she cares for me
As she thrusts her cared-for fingers down my throat
And I can’t help but wonder how different things
Might have been if she had cared for me
As much as she does for her hands

The stench of my vomit is all around me
As my breath becomes ever shorter
I’m trying to hold back the tears
Wishing that I too had done things differently
Instead of taking my life in such haste

I take my final breath as my mind replays over my life
I wish things were different but now my life has ended
And I can see now what I refused to see before
Which was my ability to change and make things change
If I had ever truly tried to change them.