Pure Black

A Poem by Sam

Inside I'm at war
Tense, I cannot sleep.
Is it any wonder
I cannot fall back into
The clutches of slumber
When my conscience is relentless?
Toke after toke,
At best I am broke.

I should be happy,
There is nothing to be sad about,
It is all manufactured.
In the next room she is coughing
The clock sings time,
It is not mine.

Pregnant
I know I've got something
Coiled up inside,
Some fear to over ride.
My mind is faulty
A repetitive Mother,
Content, discontent,
All sanity spent.

And so what if I went
(Hyperthetically of course),
I never could stomach pills
And monoxide suicide,
Well Sylvia patented that,
But what if I willed myself to die
Would it be pure black,
Like yesterday, today and tomorrow?