Slicing Through The Question By Keaton Foster

Cutting deep.
Razor sharp.
To the very bone.
To the heart of me.
The blade is dull.
The pain is God.
The blood pools.
The stain will remain.
The scars remind.
The night claims me.
The darkness is mine.
Not by choice, by force.
Free will has been lost.
Choices have been made.
Handed down.
Great pain, immeasurable shame.
Afraid to live, fearful of death.
Complex, misunderstood enigma.
Self-loathing, self-absorbed.
Undeniable in my brilliance.
Stupid with irreverence.
Value of a life lost.
Searching in vain.
Meaning undefined.
Lessons so clear.
I have learned so much.
I have retained it all.
Most afraid, most alone.
Terrified is too simple of a word.
Absolute leaves much behind.
Pain is pale, lacking in description.
Nothing is close, yet so far away.
All I can do is breathe.
Each breath is forced upon me.
The heart beats against my own desire.
Life proceeds.
Death I fear, because
Of the uncertainty in its shape.
Life I understand.
Maybe in ways I wish
I had no clue about.
I must, I have to.
I will forever be
Slicing through the question
As to why?

* * *

Some things will forever be unfinished.