It’s a lie,
our birth into this world…
Mourning should have welcomed us,
but perfect companion
sweat, tears, blood and
“doctor, doctor, the baby’s not crying…”
tube in, suck, “slap”, “slap”
“-frail, agonising human meowing…-”
Blood all over,
with our hideous, blueish
cut away companion swimming in a pathetic plastic bowl…
“What is it nurse?”
and the embarrassing silence
following a sobbing;
dad wanted “something” else…
When in distress,
humans have an instinctive reaction:
we curl back
in foetal positions…
Assembled into existence;
tiny atomic conglomerates of material memories,
embraced in a lightless quest for temporary shelter,
Something’s wrong outside,
in this limitless dimension of suffering,
where we are denied even our thumbs ’cause
“it’s childish, you silly…”
It’s not what I’ve mindlessly dreamed of…
Ladies and gentlemen, comrades, brothers, sisters,
we’re all dead;
wretched food for the all-devouring chronos…
Can’t you see, you, miserable clients
of Freudian stock,
that life is just the opposite
I’ve had enough…
I’ll close my eyes -again-,
pretending to be functional(ly):
I’ll stay calm, still,
all material memories of my
mothers and fathers
shall force my withheld senses
If life’s the opposite of living,
The opposite of dying?
It’s just the recipe for it…
Dreaming’s our continuous suicide
* – photo from cover of Joel Arnold, “Fetal Position and other stories”
7 thoughts on “Suicide from death to life…”
Life’s the opposite of living?
Death’s the opposite of death?
Whether you’re right or wrong
I’m not holding my breath
I find your writing deep
Yet I mean no offense
But when you visit my blog
You better be making sense
You are soooo kind:-)
I hearby solemnly promise to do accordingly!
Your reply comment did not appear in my list of comments. So I just read it. I wasn’t sure why as others’ replies have appeared. Then I realized you had not put it as a REPLY but just as a comment. Or at least that is what I think.
I’m still learning where and when etc. to click, reply…
Yesssss, it is soooooo embarrassing to admit: I is not perfectly perfect and mere perfection is sooooo…
Have a super day:-)
Our obituary is written on our birth certificates.~ That’s a line I’ve written, it reminds me of this poem. You really understand and have broken down my piece. It comes from real life, my life, and what i know about the human condition. I don’t study any of this. I just am patched into the wire that is broken and almost on fire. I want to help others. Thank you for recognizing my capabilities, and for your kindness. I look forward to reading more of you poetry.
wow! I have no more words to express my thoughts on this poem!
Thank you! This is one my own favourites, there’s more in it of myself than in many other of my writings.
Your speachlessness is truly welcomed next to mine!
I have dreamd of days like these, when someone would just read my writings and just silently hold onto the invisible hand of understanding suffering, reaching out from between the lines!
Thank you again!