Resolving With That Of Only A Memory
With his head buried in his hands,
Memories come flashing back fresh as the blood spilt on the floor;
He grabs his hair upon his head and screams to the high heavens.
His meaning for life has vanished, not by force but by choice,
He threw it away single handedly without turning around or thinking twice.
Now he sits alone in his room, life now over,
Watching his life as if it were a movie;
Every blood stained truth repeats itself as if it were a scratched record,
And every heart stopping word spoken echoes from the back of his fogged mind to the front without fade,
The choices in which he made were only those of his consciousness.
Reality comes to a halt,
And the answer is brought to attention;
The problem is not his choice but only that, in which he had no control over,
Without him the situations he created would cease to exist.
With that knowledge acquired he takes the blade and makes a final slit,
That in which upon his neck to end it once and for all;
The last choice he made in a last effort attempt to save those who were left with their happiness.
Bailey Schatte's Other Poems
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