After Shot

She did it. Killed herself this week. Couldn’t take this world’s offerings a minute longer.

Pretty little girl, I frequently feel like I’ve reached my end; like there‘s no way out. But you upped your game on me and took matters—a gun in your case—into your own hands leaving the world bereft; picking up pieces; sorting through your remains. Those who wronged you are forever trapped in a world of guilt and anguish, searching for ways they could have made things right with you. That’s your hope, isn’t it?

Will they take the time to put aside their grief to rummage through their life to see how they contributed to your pain, your demise, your end? Who knows?

What’s your setup like over there on the other side? Were you welcomed? Are you cast into more pain, isolation, and even less hope than you felt on this side? Hopefully you’re experiencing the joy and freedom you so desperately needed.

Little one, like I tried to say: On this side, the pain gets too great to manage at times. Often the tools we’re given don’t help us, at least not for long or to our satisfaction. Well-meaning people tell us to just wait it out, but, they don’t feel the endless agony; the nonstop monologue of:

• I can’t suffer like this any longer.

• I’ve got to do the best, the best I can, even if it’s with a gun, a gun resting in my hand waiting, waiting to connect, connect with my head.

Boom. I’m out…

PS: Pretty little girl, you may have erased your mark; but, never, never your memory from deep, deep within our hearts.

Finding Hope While Grieving Suicide

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Bread And Butter

I enjoyed him by observation. No, I do not know him, fully; especially not enough to determine how truthful his words are. After all, he is an orator. His mouth is what’s used to earn his bread and butter.

Pain Change

my pain‘s real right now.

empty-faced.

absent soul.

beeping out for a connection. touré says move on to the next thing; im not feeling it.

trying to make moves but moves ain’t making me.

this blackness is bleak.

im shifting in multiple directions with hesitation marks all over the planet.

all is looking toward the big d; but, I don’t wanna go there.

my desire is to lie comfy in my bed until the wind changes.

yes, it always changes, rabbit !

didn’t you know?

nothing’s permanent.

not even you…

artist: David Choe

If Fear Wasn’t A Factor

If fear wasn’t a factor, I’d run to him. I’d love him—best I know how (that’s fear being a factor).

I’d bring him comfort and solace—if he’d take it (that’s fear speaking too).

Fear, you need to have several seats.

From my current point of view, I like him; his kindness wisdom quirkiness and humor.

Funny I never thought of returning to him—just thought us to be old flames with no embers smoldering.

Since his status change and he reached out to me, I’m seriously considering him.

Fear speaketh: What makes you think he wants you?

Fear, I asked you nicely to have several seats !

Well, as you can see, fear is a factor here. I need God’s guidance.

Long ago, I fearfully ran into someones space, not his arms, to rescue me from my torment. I put my own selfish desire first—to be comforted without giving comfort or love.

Got hitched.

Was miserable.

God wasn’t key; we were barely speaking.

I wanted what I wanted and it ended as a hot mess. Broken-hearted people scattered all over the lawn with rings, a name change, and papers.

Ten years out and I hope I’m wiser. I’ve learned the hard way that you can unwisely put yourself in the midst of something you can’t sustain. Or, you can seek wise counsel to live your dreams with fear not being a real factor at all.

I‘m choosing to be fearless this time by…

… seeking wise-counsel and walking in it.

… giving love as well as receiving it.

… being on speaking terms with God about his promises for me—yes and amen.

Fear, you are not a factor.

Sucker Punched

Why are the young so happy?

Full of optimism
Full of glee

Nothing’s too big for their imagination

Anything’s possible

Then LIFE strikes…

One stumble: “Oh I’m good. Just a slight misstep. I got this.”

One stumble turns into years of pileup.

Your light dims.

Sucker-punch after sucker-punch.

Bitterness & apathy are no longer weekend guests; they’ve become unwanted tenants.

Folks start peddling you all kinds of sworn tested & true remedies in the name of “help you feel better”.

Thing is, they only work for so long before you just shrivel up and die while still wide awake…

C3F5616F-39E6-497B-9C6F-6B43143BE9D4
Max Ginsburg, Artists 

Plaything 

ART: PAUL CHATEM, DEVIL’S PLAYTHING

She purchased me—like I am a hooker or something. Supposedly, she needed me—instead she hid me away, out of sight out of mind. Occasionally, she glances at me when she is nearby—toying with me like I am her plaything. Even though I am available for her, she goes to someone else instead of thinking about me. 

Sometimes desperation causes her to grab me, loosen me, and pour me over her cushiony friend. After I satisfy her sweet spot, she is content—casting me aside once again. I return to my isolated dark place longing for her return. I know I behave foolishly by acquiescing to the way she uses me. She willingly, openly, and freely allows her friends to pass me around tending to their little dirty deeds.

These acts leave me humiliated—feeling so cheap, and filthy. Her constant neglect and disrespect frustrate me—rendering me helpless because I am in her possession. However, I wait in desperation for her return to me.

Signed,

Her Nail Polish Remover

Nesi Writes