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Sensibility

Not yet, not yet.

I’ll still give you another chance yet.
Life, is it you who gives me the chances
Or is it I who give them to you?
On the other hand,
Must I provide them to myself?

In fact, I will give you more than one
For I am patient.
I am in no immediate rush,
Although that is a lie,
For I am becoming restless.

Seventeen years of you and I want one of us gone.
Though who will push who to leave?
(Ha, that is obvious.) We will go together
For I see nothing other than the end
In its most clearest of darkness…

The dangers of hearing and seeing;
To be sensitive is to be tortured in my own self-made prison.
That which I keep so clean and pampered
Until a momentary lapse in judgment wishes to scar it
For eternity.

I am not ready,
Yet.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I paused upon the sight of my thin leaf-like veins and wondered when my time would come to place an irreversible mark upon the body I have taken care of for so long a time.

I aim to relate to people, and obtain the thought processes that occur as they are about to do such an act, or any act, even though I have not yet done it myself. Therefore, is it possible to describe an experience that one has not been through themselves? I wonder Tori, how did I do?

I am not much of anything though I do feel compelled to write whenever I am greatly influenced by certain people, books, events, issues etc. In this case, 'The Bell Jar' by Sylvia Plath; her writing of an attempt made by Esther to shed blood from her wrists using a razor.

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©10 March 2012 - 2:13am — Piquetlou
12 March 2012 - 1:30am — Piquetlou
Piquetlou's picture

Ecstatic!

Thank you for the responses,
as it is due to them that I now feel even more motivated to create new poems and stories. The feedback is crucial, whether it be negative or positive, as acknowledgment for a success or failure is better than no acknowledgement at all. This is to say that at least an attempt was made to share the work and obtain any type of response.

10 March 2012 - 9:23am — snhobo
snhobo's picture

well

you cant see it but im snaping my fingers lolz good job!

It's last life is spent tormenting your dreams-zombie cat

10 March 2012 - 4:18am — SSmoothie
SSmoothie's picture

This is gold! I love it!

I also love Sylvia Plath :) and recently discovered
Goethe I'm loving that too, but this is a great piece of work I enjoyed and took in all the lines. Thanks a great read! Cheers SS

Don't let any one shake your dream stars from your eyes, lest your soul Come away with them! -SS    

"Well, it's love, but not as we know it."

10 March 2012 - 3:08am — Mardigan (not verified)
Mardigan's picture

Deep deep poem. I know things

Deep deep poem. I know things seem so dark, and the grief can get so great, that it feels like nothing can penetrate. But I used to be the same, and it's sure a long ways to get from dark to light but it's entirely possible. When you get to that place where you find you are no-thing and were just living from your "Self made prison" /mind/ego or whatever you may call it, and that that was the cause of your suffering you will start to ease into peace. I wish the best to you, and once again I enjoyed your writing very much.