Poetry/Writing Dedicated to the Victims of Suicide
10/25/2010 12:30 PM
Poetry by DannyBoy Naha-Ve'evalu
(I am a prisoner on the inside, as well as the outside) I can paint a Picasso of the courage it must take one to live the life one wants to live; you see me, that’s not quite what I did. Instead of facing reticule and humiliation from those held immensely close to my heart, I live the life more suitable on the outside. But inside I'm in prison doing life for not snitching, on myself. Surely my cell gets congested causing little signs of truth to seep out of open crevices'. Shawshank redemption is near but the consequences of escaping I am not able to inflict upon my wounded soul. Wounded & Conflicted by culture, religion, tradition, and expectations, my mind and my heart duel for righteousness. Despite exhaustion, Insomnia forces me to play out the screenplay of my imagination, the very script I long to live. I become engulfed with the protagonist, bringing the character to life. Critics are spellbound by my performance referring to it as a delightful tour-de-force. However, the only 1 critiquing me is I. No 1 has inspired me with true friendship to allow so close, even those few who have heard the truth uttered from my speech. Exhaustion of a facade leaves me in despair. Enabling my prisoner to become intoxicated with power over me. Consider this his playtime on the field. Rebellious toward me for my actions, he creates havoc within my conscience indulging in his vices creating emotional bliss for him to weaken my decision. Fucked up way to live, I'm sure. But to loose those who love me would be unbearable. So do I live the life I want? Or do I live the life I know? I know, I know, it’s my life; I should live it and be comfortable in my skin. The walls I built to keep my prisoner inside are roaring. The echo becomes louder with every thrust. You can't keep the innocent caged up forever. The inmate chained to my soul can no longer remain destitute. Slowly and securely I feed his thirst. But what will come of it? Truth? I and I can't handle the truth. But like the sun, the truth always rises, and my prisoner’s one wish is to live where the sun always shines.
I rest in line laid flat like a wave-cap firm and ready to salute above others who were designed just like me.
We might as well b related because we're all made up of the same DNA with the same exact purpose and the same exact engraving on our backside.
I am no mistake made by foolish teenagers.
I was created to serve my master superior to their enemy.
Invented to create flat lines on heart rate machines, tears to loved ones, and fear into each and every one of your hearts.
Shaped to fit into the blanket of a clip and pierce through your existence.
Carved to load into a barrel and spit out thunder and lighting into the path of death.
I am a contractor for the grim reaper whether I like it or not.
Many of you have the misconception of me being lethal to life.
The misconception that I will be the reason people will respect you.
You're a fool if you believe this to be true. I live life like a bumblebee, unaware of who I'll sting next, once I sting, I die too, just like a bumblebee.
This is my birthright - as if I were a prince and air to the thrown.
My brother before me has left the clip and I know I will never see him again.
I'm the next one up, loaded into the chamber.
A young man is going to end his life.
I have the power to make your whole life flash before eyes.
But I wish I had the ability of an oracle to make you see the future of your taro cards, enlighten you on the purpose of your existence, and the authority to answer all your prayers.
I am pointed at his head looking directly into his thoughts.
I can see everything on his mind - the reasoning behind his rage and the math of his madness!
His lifestyle is tainted black like windows by religion, society, and cainophobia.
I wish I had a remote to change the channel in his mind.
I want to plead and beg him to live his life.
I want to cover him in blessings so that he may be comfortable in his skin.
As comfortable as a child snuggled under a blanket of love.
Fuck what anyone else thinks about you and to hell with whatever they have to say.
This is your life, not theirs. Tell them to focus on the bullshit that consumes their toilet and not worry about what’s in yours.
He has no idea how precious his life is.
I wish I could yell down the barrel of this tunnel and shout DON'T DO IT!
Your life is too important to cowardly conclude. His mind is drenched with insecurities, his heart soaked in pain, and his spirit lost in the shadows of his past.
I hear him weep.
His tears tumble down his face crashing to the ground like bombs in Bagdad. His cries sing of weary and tremble like the winds causing a tsunami of tears to falter from his broken soul.
His tears are the soundtrack to his heart and I can hear his heart amplify with anger and rattle with remorse.
His heart goes from 0 to 100mph with the blink of an eye and with the snap of a finger he utters…
"Please forgive me Lord for I have sinned" and BANG!
Our lives are over.
I rest with him 6 feet underground.
His soul has left his body and is stuck some where between heaven and hell. May God have mercy on his soul and bless the world with LOVE.
Bullet with a Soul