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21:42 Mar 09 2007
Times Read: 644

Crimson river flowing, flowing

Flows into a crimson lake.

Eagle watches knowing, knowing

How much more of this can I take.

I watch the river make its way-

Sunset ends this condemning day.

Crimson river, a crimson lake

How much more of this can I take?

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I wrote this as a teen. It seems my poetry skills haven't really flowered much since then. I have written only one other poem I have thought was "good" since then, but I can't seem to remember all of it anymore.



This may not have necessarily been good poetry, but I still feel it is art. I wrote this during a depressing time in my life and I harbored thoughts of sucide. I even showed this poem to my mother once, but she thought it was about pollution. I knew then that she would just not get it and just nodded my head.



I broke down in tears once when I didn't have the willpower to cut myself. I have to say that I'm glad it ended at that point.



I ended up getting a job and getting away from my mother's boyfriend (who was the source of my agony) and found out I was okay when I wasn't around him.



I'm glad I never had the willpower to "go through with it." I am now in a loving relationship and though not great, I wouldn't have been able to experience any of it if I had done it.