Street Walking


It’s midnight and the town I walk alone in is silent.
There is no hum of a daytime rush, or people taking their little ones to school.
There’s no bright sunshine to guide my way in the street, no way to identify who is walking alone on the other side of the road in the opposite direction of me.
There’s no birds out and about soaring through the sky to look up at in awe, instead I keep my eyes to the ground to watch ever step, and to listen to every non-existent sound.
The moon is dim tonight of nights, the stars have that soft yellow glow.
But nothing tonight can save me from the thoughts the bellow within me down below.
Tonight, I walk a walk it’s 1am, turning every corner, and not watching out for cars.
Tonight, I walk with no purpose, not a thing, not at all.
My head is full of crazy thoughts, some scary and some nice, but more and more I listen to these thoughts because there’s no one else to talk to.
When I feel like this, all alone, the one who gets me is often stone cold. They don’t have a name, they don’t have a face, but they can bring color back to my pale face.
They’re silver in color, their edges are sharp, they can slice through a lot, but I lately tend to user them on my body in the dark, to create a crimson red line when I am feeling dead.
The razor, it sparks me back to life, it reminds of why I did not choose a knife.
Sometimes when I am lucky I can breathe again,
It’s like in the hospital and they put you on a ventilator.
Tonight, I walk a walk now it’s 2am,
I am on the other side of town where I hear it’s always quite dead.
I look at the houses, and peer into the lives of those who live there and wonder if they’re happy with life.
I ask myself questions such as do they believe in a good god,
Do they care about starving children in Africa,
Do they like Donald Trump?
Do they care about America, or do they wish they’d be found dead in a dump?
My hands hang limply at the side of my thighs, I’m getting quite tired, but the thoughts,
They won’t shut up, so I’ll force my small body to walk some more steps.
Before I know it it’s not 3am,
I sit in the park on a lonely park bench.
I pull my knees up to my chest as I let a single tear roll down my cheek.
I wait for what seems forever, stuck on the sky.
I guess to pass time by I will count every star and name each one,
Sometimes the Lion King song goes through my head and I remember when Simba reflected on what is father said about the stars,
And too soon I realize that there’s a cop car across the park meadow,
They’re watching me move, and while I’m no threat, I know it’s time to go.
When I check my watch the numbers ring through, it’s 4am,
Time to head home before they think I might be gone.
I walk slowly but with speed,
With such intensity, yet with ease.
I count my footsteps, I notice the sound,
I like the way my feet move in these shoes,
Even if only I know how it feels.
I wait in my driveway, I count what I’ve learned,
I wait for some time before I open the door and go back to bed.
Some say to count your blessings, others say to count sheep,
Some say to count your diamonds and how they fit on a ring.
I don’t do any of it, but I look at my calendar and I try to count this night as a success
Because it’s another night I lived through,
But most of the time I don’t feel pride or joy,
Instead I count down the hours until there are none,
And I wait silently alone in the darkness begging of a high power to just make me lifeless.
A bad wish some would say, and I can agree,
But for now, it’s just a wish,
And a wish might be all that I have left.

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This Poems Story

This is a concept I think about a lot since one of my friends took her life in May 2017, it’s a memory to her.