January 2013

A Poem by Kris Jansen

I see myself.
Pacing down iced over streets, as my body makes one with the snow.
I can see my breath, but I can't feel my pulse.
Let the wind take me to wherever it may go.
They say I will go to Hell, but any warmth will beat this cold.
I am already lifeless, my dead heart is all that I hold.

It's torturing; the feeling of frozen feet.
But nothing will surpass the pain of the tears that are freezing to my cheeks.
The sun is coming down but my feet will be off the ground.
Who will see me? Who will find me? Who will witness the agony that defines me?
No sorrow will be felt when my body is found,
But relief to know that I am no longer around.

So still I walk, maintaining my pace.
In search of a painless, uncharted place.
Moving on from these people, moving on from this hate,
And pushing forward to my overdue fate.
When I am gone, please don't remember me.
Spare yourselves of that wasted memory.

Skipping ahead but not too far,
I am tying a rope to these steel monkey bars.
My fingers are numb while forming a noose,
But I will not let this knot come loose.
Deep breaths as I climb these steps.

My final thought was not too much.
For all I could think was
"I'm so cold"
I look up to the night, the glitter of snow.
My fingers weaken,
And I let go.