Rob Krabbe's Blog: From a Krabbe Desk - Posts Tagged "depression"
It's Just So.
© 2012 from Today's Journal by Rob Krabbe
I know you don't understand
about the questions, the choices;
to listen or not listen to the voices, but
why is death so much to you really?
Here, slowly . . . touch me,
run your fingers across me;
bring me to new life,
from this rancid death.
Be selfless, whole and in sacrifice, free.
In a single moment of love making,
we become perfect.
The promise, without the premise.
Intimacy, no distance; romance it, roll it around between your fingers.
Dress it up high, and sensual like an art-house nude.
The best things are not so wise in the long haul.
Nothing is quite as momentary as a good hard erection.
No answer as perfect as the last breath.
I'll spell it out for you:
I don't want to pull the trigger.
I just need desperately,
to truly live,
and to do that,
I need to believe
that I can die.
I know you don't understand
about the questions, the choices;
to listen or not listen to the voices, but
why is death so much to you really?
Here, slowly . . . touch me,
run your fingers across me;
bring me to new life,
from this rancid death.
Be selfless, whole and in sacrifice, free.
In a single moment of love making,
we become perfect.
The promise, without the premise.
Intimacy, no distance; romance it, roll it around between your fingers.
Dress it up high, and sensual like an art-house nude.
The best things are not so wise in the long haul.
Nothing is quite as momentary as a good hard erection.
No answer as perfect as the last breath.
I'll spell it out for you:
I don't want to pull the trigger.
I just need desperately,
to truly live,
and to do that,
I need to believe
that I can die.
Published on December 28, 2012 14:43
•
Tags:
death, depression, poetry, prose, romancing-suicide
From a Krabbe Desk
A thought, now and then, this "blog," and it is more a matter of filtering than writing. It is that scavenging through the thoughts to find one or two that transcend from an inner reality to a deciphe
A thought, now and then, this "blog," and it is more a matter of filtering than writing. It is that scavenging through the thoughts to find one or two that transcend from an inner reality to a decipherable external one, takes a special kind of energy. An energy I am some days out of.
Writing, for me, is always just that. At the outset of each day, I spend a certain amount of time firing up the head, and sorting through what comes. In this process I have kept journal pages since I was seven years old. Hundreds of thousands of pages, and most of them, written before the word blog was anything more than a misspelling. So here I will do my meandering and here I will keep my journal from this day forward (until I stop). ...more
Writing, for me, is always just that. At the outset of each day, I spend a certain amount of time firing up the head, and sorting through what comes. In this process I have kept journal pages since I was seven years old. Hundreds of thousands of pages, and most of them, written before the word blog was anything more than a misspelling. So here I will do my meandering and here I will keep my journal from this day forward (until I stop). ...more
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