Salvation's steps away but as of today we can't see it.
We barter our souls for a black warm cloak of fame.
Redemption is lost in a haze of euphoria and red light.
Wake up the next morning and say you'll be okay today.
The cuts are still showing, the knife is still bleeding,
But everything is better just 'cuz you're still living.
Pink water's flowing; the cat all-knowing is watching you.

The day's a blur, your eyes are glazed your hair's a mess.
Trapped in a haze of smoke, you laugh with the demons you seek sanctuary with.
You're feeling giddy, feeling joyous, feeling gorgeous and high.
You can't even feel the needles as they prick, depress, and glide away.
The room is flashing pretty lights; you get up to dance.
But then the laughter fades away, you're stuck in a trance.
Why don't they like you? Why do they hate you?
Why are you still living when there's no one here to save you?

Somehow you're home; the darkness is gnawing.
You find the knife, roll up your sleeve, find the pulse of life flowing.
The world seems to darken with each numbing swipe.
You're nearly blind as, drunkenly, you stumble to bed.
Too down to care, you rest your head and breathe the shallow air.
When you wake, green eyes are glaring accusingly.
Piercing, throbbing, killing your life of fantasy.
First you start to babble, then your voice goes shrill.
There's something in the creature that you know cannot be stilled.
Its teeth are bared, it has blood on its paws.
It slowly licks its lips and screams a deep, throaty yowl.
It's drowning out the darkness with the oddly human sound.

You don't know who to call for; no one cares if you live or die.
Your "friends" are all stoned and your family'd drag you away.
You can't leave behind all the rush, all the hype, all the glory.
All the promises of satisfaction tear away your wall of self-respect.
But how do ward off the predator that knows your every mistake?
You scream a scream to match the cry that echoes and rankles,
From your heart weep for your God as if He will hear you.
The mewling sob crescendoes in the emptiness of night
Until the sun peers over, spilling its glorius, merciful light.

Some time later, in a quiet, solemn town
Where grass is golden, and no one wears a frown
There is a person sitting in a tranquil little room
Young faces, bright-eyed, listen to the calming tune:

"Life is but a gift, precious and strong.
But some may be careless, something may go wrong.
Some let it fall and shatter pieces where it will.
They may not retrieve them, they may live with sin,
They may believe the pieces can't be put back again.
But heed my words, my friends, the truth I do tell.
Whatever is broken can be mended as well."

This is sort of a self-mutilation story with a twist. If I throw anyone off with the mention of a cat in the first stanza, I hope you read far enough to realize the importance of its role instead of fleeing.

~Best~
Megan

you have a remarkable gift.

-one who has bartered much

I thank you.

~Best Wishes~
Megan

Hey Megan!
Good poem!

Take care,
Silke

Silke's right, Megan; this IS a good poem. The narrative is masterful, the description vivid; it all rings true.

I like it very much!

Keep at it, and I wish you every success and happiness.

Unbreakable solidarity, always.

Thank you, Silke and Steven! Such comments are always treasured when coming from authors of whom I have read and whose works I have likewise appreciated.

~Best Wishes!~
Megan