Poetry

Weakling

I held the paper up
For the fifth time
I stared at the rope
Hanging on the ceiling
Asking myself the same question
A million times
The pictures playing in my head
The memories replaying in my mind
This is so hard to do
For I’ll be leaving an empty space
That would never be filled
An everlasting wound that can
Never be healed
I read the note I’m leaving behind
So they’d know that I love them so much
Standing on the stool
My hands gripping the rope tighter
And placing the rope over my head
My legs slipping away from the stool
A second,
I was fading into emptiness
A minute,
I was away from life
And just like that,
My hardest decision has come
To pass, because I was a weakling.

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