the belt. (pt. 3)


Each ring of my belt
Holds another night terror.
Another duct-taped mouth.
Another pill bottle.
I cannot scream out any longer.
I am hushed and coddled by these
People who just don't know.

They don't know how these monsters,
These voices are everywhere.
I am trying to run and hide
But my legs aren't moving anymore.
They are only shaking, trembling, clenching.
These belt rings,
They have the same effect.
They tighten making me clench harder
Every passing day.

I am just too weak anymore
To pull them apart
The belt.
The monsters.
The voices.
The medicine.
The jumbled up mess.
I give in, I let it take my breath
One last time.
I let it stop my heart.
I start now to see
The disappointed light.

1-800-273-8255.
I shouldn't have given up this fight.
Because all that is left now
Is this belt and my weary skin.

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WARNING: THIS POEM CONTAINS SENSITIVE CONTENT THAT MAY BE DISTURBING TO OTHERS. This poem is from the absolute darkest seemingly rock-bottom pit in my life. It is in no way encouraging suicide, or suggesting substance abuse, etc. If any readers are relating to this poem or have any thoughts of suicide or self harm OR if you know a friend or anyone at all who feels this way, please call 1-800-273-8255. My intended purpose for this poem is to warn others of how serious this issue is as I went through it at a time. I felt that my family was neglecting the situation which only drove me farther. So please, please pay close attention to your loved ones actions, expressions, and LISTEN to them when they call out. Nothing is more important. Thank you.