I wanted to die,
but there were five rivers to cross,
and when I sank below the surface of the Lethe,
I opened my mouth to drink in the sweet waters of oblivion.
The spaces inside me were filled with nothing,
and I forgot what I was running from.
The blue pills took me to the cave of Hypnos,
but his whispers were not chemical enough to keep me there.
I woke upon the banks of the Acheron,
a crimson slash carved into the rock of the underworld,
an echo of the flesh on my own wrists,
the wounds that betrayed me by knowing how to heal.
The Phlegethon had lit a fire in me,
the spark of a soul that wants to breathe,
to fan the flames of determination.
I gathered all the tears that Cocytus would allow me,
but still I couldn't put that fire out.
The coins on my tongue weighed nothing,
when I emerged, defeated, on the wrong side of the Styx.
I spat them out and buried them in the mud.
I had not wanted enough.

10/28/2013

Posted on 10/28/2013
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