Fiddle

Suicidal thoughts are not a cry for attention
they’re a means of survival
they’re the best self defense
when yourself is the rival.
They’re a way to make sense
of emotions at times,
but where thought turns to action
is where I won’t cross the line.
They’ve given me peace
when the darkness sets in
it’s a back-pocket option
if the demons get in.
I turn these thoughts into poems,
using that to persist
finding strength in the words
my reason still to exist.
turn pain into art,
and in the darkness seek light
turn demons to achievements
and laugh along in the night.
I’ve hardly loved me
and if you’re in the same boat
let’s ride on through the storm
and keep this journey afloat.
Sometimes I feel trapped
with my mind on the brink,
but when you’re always alone
in the silence you think.
Thinking too much too often,
is that such a bad thing?
My mind’s a tune on a fiddle
sometimes breaking its strings.
But when strings are repaired
and the tune can play on,
let the music of life
fill you ‘til you are gone.

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