Sylvia

Source

I had a love
where you spoke one name
and another whispered:
There’s something glamorous
in suicide,
in having the brains to know
there’s nowhere
to escape.

Madness is perfect for poetry:
the endless rhyme and repetition
rocking in that rocking chair
like senility.
Everything tried,
nothing true,
smoke drifting through
a wasted shell.

Huge shout-out to Hive account@damianjayclay for the constructive editing help with this, and everyone in the poetry workshop at Isle of Write and The Writer's Block. Also thank you to Hive account@snowmachine for her fiction post Sylvia and I, which reminded me that I had this poem moldering away in my poetry notebook. Also, I would like to note that I do not promote suicide- having been suicidal myself long, long ago, I understand why someone might make that choice.

If you are considering suicide, or just need someone to talk to, please consider getting help:
US residents:
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
Call 1-800-273-8255
Available 24 hours everyday
Online Chat
Crisis Text Line
Here is the link for international users

_{art and flair courtesy of @PegasusPhysics}

_{The Writer's Block}

Image is from MF on Wordpress
Poetry is property of Hive account@sunravelme