Do Not Weep, Maiden, for Death Is Kind
What I want to do most is sleep. That is how I know I want to die, for death is eternal sleep. There is no waking from it. Every morning, I'm disappointed to have woken. What I really want is to die, peacefully and painlessly, in my sleep.
Perhaps no one believes the person who threatens suicide will do it . So many people have bitched and moaned about life and suicide, but most of them won't do it.
I was recently told, during a mental health appointment, that alcohol is a depressant. I knew that already. My response? Life, existence, is a depressant, and it is much more powerful than alcohol.
Now that I've accepted death, I feel a certain peace: a peace that passeth all understanding.
Except for animals, I don't care anymore. I've heard that (I don't care anymore.) in at least 2 songs (Phil Collins and Wilco).
As I wrote in my memoir, Memoir of an American Loser (under my pen name-Zach Murphy), suicide, for me, is like a blanket that sits on a high shelf in a closet. It's ready to be employed whenever I'm sure the world is too cold to bear.
And if I kill myself, don't weep for me. Weep for yourself, and the rest of the living (with the obvious exception of Isis members), because there is no pain and suffering in death: only in life.
I hope my writing survives: my 2 books, one about people's horrible treatment of animals (Veganman) and the other a humorous, bittersweet memoir about the pain of life (Memoir of an American Loser), this blog, and, to a lesser degree, what I've posted on Facebook and Twitter. There's a lot of other stuff too, but it either isn't finished, or there's no place for it at this time.
Life Sucks: a poem
Life sucks
Life ducks?
Life trucks?
Life tucks?
Life bucks?
Life f*cks?
Life clucks?
Life pucks?
Life mucks?
Life luck's?
Life lux?
No, life sucks
Resumé
ReplyDeleteRazors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
-- Dorothy Parker
That's a good one. Here's another-
ReplyDeleteRichard Cory
By Edwin Arlington Robinson
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
Cool poem. Didn't Paul Simon write a song based on this?
DeleteI don't know, but here's another poem:
ReplyDeleteThis Be The Verse by Philip Larkin
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.
I've read this one before: a personal favorite of mine :-)
DeleteGood taste.
ReplyDelete