Devil Talk

Under the bleak street lights,

Eerie aspirations of Ghosts waiting silently in the fading light.

Their voices quietly escaping into the back of my mind which is gaping.

Carrying their inaudible plight not mistaking,

Who I am, or what I am doing walking there.

They can hear the screaming voice that was already there.

The screaming voice in my mind telling me I should end my life.

I can hear the final breath in every step that meets its death,

As I stretch the other foot ahead.

But I keep walking, while these voices still stalk me.

They haunt me with their taunting and vaunting of death,

Trying to make me want that instead.

I try to shake off these impressions

With a quick self-intervention.

But the voiced had already seared my soul

And the angel on my shoulder never appeared.

So the voices like the devil, did all the tempted

And I started conceding to the pleadings of the voices that all around me I heard.

It drove me to insanity

To fight it was vanity.

So these voices hedged up the way for my destruction, 

And pushed me off the edge with the temptation of a broken bottle at the curb of the road.

A creeping sensation started to spread.

I wasn’t getting proper ventilation to my head.

Through the voices inspiration and violent intimidation 

I grasped the glass bottle with the palm of my hand,

And with my finger gently touched the sharp shards at its end.

There was a slight iridescence of light that was reflected

As I held it up to the light and inspected.

And to my surprise I held the weapon of my demise.

With a slight intermission of silence,

And of my own volition a swift act of violence.

I felt a cool sting replaced by a warm flood of blood,

Flowing down my neck.

Ironic I died walking away from the light



Guide that inspired this poem: 


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