A Poem by Hachamecha

I stare at the knife in my hand,

bringing it close to my face

My eyes flicker left

It's 9:00.

Time to end the trickle of sand.


Laughter behind me-I hesitate

Do I die tonight?

How would I do it?

Will they scream?

Will I, whilst spiraling to Hell's gate?


Sighing, I put the knife away

Time moves on,

people move on,

my exsistance is nothing...

all is inevidable, as my hair turns grey.


Maybe my hesitation was a mistake

Perhaps my living was for the best

Who knows?

Those who search find nothing

Just fragments of those who break.


Wake up, eat, school, sleep.

The endless cycle..

it ends, my friend.

'the moving finger writes'

no matter how much you weep.


© 2012 Hachamecha

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Added on September 4, 2012
Last Updated on September 6, 2012



Ledyard, CT

I don't write much anymore. I will though. I'll find my muse. She just died along with my will. 39~ -Hachamecha more..

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