Just because I felt I had too.


Sometimes, in this life, we face walls.

Walls of steel, walls of cement.

These walls stop us from focusing on that that matters the most, the keep us out, away from the emotion of happiness. They tear you down; you’re strong exterior, and watch the life slowly leave you.

They don’t care. They could never care.

You bash your fists, hard against the steel, the coldness hitting you first, before the heat of your blood pours from your poor, helpless hands.

You hold them in front of you, irritation seeping into your system.

You want to hold your mother; you want to tell her you love her no matter what.

But that doesn’t matter. Not now, not now this is here.

Where did this come from? Why is it stopping me from wanting to live anymore?

You look down at your blooded, shredded hands, and back up at the fifteen-foot wall stopping you from getting what you want.

You curse at it, fight at it with all you have.

But you’re a weeping mess on the floor.

Blood is drenching you in pain, in misery.

You clutch at your heart, which is now an empty muscle, desperate to get it beating for life again, but it can’t. It won’t.

Why wont it fight? Why won’t it tell me to live for everything?

The rope has become friendly now, that same rope that you’ve had hidden under your bed for months.

You can hear your family downstairs, enjoying the day, laughing, and joking.

Yet you’re here, fighting with a wall.

You get angry.

Nothing matters anymore.

Where have the years gone? Why don’t they mean anything anymore?

Why doesn’t my family matter to me anymore?

You grab the rope, escape into the loft, and tie it deftly, quickly, to the beam above you.

You stare down at your bedroom floor.

The demons are laughing at you, telling you you’re worthless, lifeless.

You’re a nothing.

You wrap your fingers around the rope, the last item you will ever feel.

This is it.

Your feet think before your mind does, and light paralyzes you.

It’s done.

You feel your soul leave your body, staring at the broken mess. Before meeting its maker someplace else.

You look at the shell you were, your body, hanging from a rope, your neck broken, your eyes lifeless.

You see your sister find you, she falls to her knees, fear, shock, emotion floods her system, before she calls for help.

You try reach out to her, to your mother who is now calling an ambulance.

But you can’t feel them; all you can feel is the cold.

You drift away with your memories, with your heart now stopped, toward what you hoped, would be a better life.

©Bethan Cooper.


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