As I tread with the little strength I have left.
And it's not that I've lost faith in myself either;
That perhaps, if I mustered all, maybe I could endure.
It is this, that I am tired,
Tired of kicking and floating and wading
And still not seeing the shore.
It is not that I believe drowning is inevitable,
It is that I wonder if it is easiest right now
And perhaps, indeed, as I let go and sink
I may change my mind, and see that life is worth the fight
And worth the effort it takes to move in sync with the waves that should carry me home
And as my lungs fill with the poison that is to do me in
I may decide that I want to kick, float and wade
But perhaps it will be too late, because by then I would be too weak
And the depth too deep
...And then my suicide becomes my murderer.
© Chereese La-Vonne Ricketts 2013