I don’t hold things sacred often. But I drive by this tree everyday. Seeing it in the morning and in the evening used to be a point of shame for me. This tree is a five minute walk from my house. One year ago I walked out to this tree and I sat underneath it with my gun for several hours. I cried and screamed and was the closest I had ever been to commiting suicide. I had only loaded a single round into the magazine and when it felt like my head was splitting open I shot the gun into the ground and threw up. I voluntarily gave the gun to a close friend for until I’m healthier. Back then the grass was overgrown, there were pieces of rebar and the tree was bare from the cold weather. It’s now well kept as they are planning to sell the land. The last few weeks driving by this tree has been a comfort. It’s now a marker that I have had 365 victories in a row. I have been if only in this one aspect of my life successful. I don’t normally condone the marking of trees and stuff since they’re living but I made a small exception. This tree is sacred to me because I live. I don’t have a bright follow up message but I’m alive today and I’m thankful for that.

I can’t be the thing I was before

I’d like to see who I could be

Like is he happier with himself

Or does he smile more easily

My heart beats so much slower now

Like it knows what I’m thinking

I’m watching minutes become miles

A separate mind and corpse

I can’t cry much anymore

No more pity for me

Not even some from myself

Nor in anyone else

Please don’t be that thing

That haunts me so

Every mirror

A reminder

I am slipping

Losing grip

Slit purple wrists

Bleeding out

Whispering

Softly

I wonder

Will it

Hurt when

I

Take my

Life

ghosts

She whispers harshly
That the ghosts have come
Hands and feet drag by
Like a winter fog

Knotted fingers grasp the door
Footsteps like last gasps of air
A cold chill rips up my spine
I look past my sister’s face

Hollow eyes stare back
Before I can scream
She is pulled away
When I close my eyes

I can still see the whites of hers