Monday, 21 December 2009

I'm killing myself

There can be no doubt about it now.
A slow suicide. Murderer - victim - witness - anaesthetist,
side by side. The hate and love are one.
I love myself and so want to relieve myself of the pain
of hating myself, so I kill myself.

I have had this song by Concha Buika in my head over
the last months, day and night, and only suddenly
realised last night that I am singing it to myself.

No habra nadie en el mundo
que cure la herida que dejo tu orgullo.
Yo no comprendo que tu me lastimes
con todo todo el amor que tu me diste.
(There is no one in the world
who can cure the wound left by your pride.
I don't understand how you can hurt me
after having loved me so much.)

So how is the end to be? And how long does it take?
Do I suddenly find the will and fight for my life,
this will that I have not found in normal life?
Do I just slip deeper into an anaethetised state,
as seems to be happening in parts of my life?
Do I writhe about in pain as I fall apart in the gutter,
as seems also to be happening at the same time?

Alcoholism is a comforting weapon.
It attacks the cells, liver, heart, muscles, ....
leading to lethargy, tiredness, and only a little pain.
It attacks the spirit, more lethargy and tiredness ....
The Spiritual pain is eased by the general numbness.
One might hardly notice that anything is happening
until there is a major collapse.

And the hand that reaches for the weapon, what of it?
"Just this one. It won't do any harm"
The mouth that swallows the poison, what say you?
"It is a long time since there was any joy in the taste of wine."
And the silent witness to the crime?
"He can control it or say stop at any time?"
The murderer, "There must be a death, for there to be a rebirth".

And the victim repeats the mantra tought by the elders,
"I am bad. I deserve to be punished.
I have done bad things, even if I don't know what they are."

But somewhere there is a feint cry for help
even if it can hardly be heard.
Who is that calling, "Please help me."
And somewhere too, there is always an angel listening.

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