Writing



To look at suicide, the bleakest of places.


To sense that desperation, when every door is shut.


How could I not want to rescue and save


As I myself, somewhere in the recesses wanted to be.


And although you couldn't save me, you did - 


 It was the chink in the door,


The tiny sliver of light that tentatively glimmered


In the crushing darkness and I could just see it,


When I looked hard enough, and that,


That slither of light and hope tipped the balance 


And I fought to hold onto the tiny possibility that maybe,


Just maybe it would be okay, I would breathe another day.


And in that selfish, all consuming space,


Looking at all the shut doors


In the blackness, the distant glow of that tiny light


Saved me.' Anon


#wordsina30yearwasteland #poetry

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