The new year is a dangerous time
for a person
whose breath is held
while they grasp for hope
just out of reach.
Hope used to be my favorite word,
because I believed in it.
The power it held,
a four letter word
with so much strength.
But I don’t feel that anymore,
and as 2017 creeps into life,
I am struck at the loneliness,
and fear I have.
I don’t want a new year.
I don’t want a new day,
Hell, I don’t even want today.
The worst thing that happened to me
was being born.
And the worst thing after that,
has been how I cower over taking my life.
If we learn from the past,
there’s no evidence of improvement.
So why bring in a new year?
And allow it to walk all over me.
Allow it to squish me like a bug.
Allow it to give me a false sense of hope,
just so I can be hurt –
So this is the new year.
and I’ll sit here
and think about my options:
pills, the train, drinking until oblivion.
and I won’t do a single one.
Because somewhere within me,
there is a small shred of hope.
I haven’t found it,
as it is a needle in a haystack.
But somebody told me they saw it once.
I don’t think 2017 will be great.
I partially don’t think 2017 will be survivable.
If I make it to this year,
I don’t really expect to make it out.
But in about six hours,
the new year will begin.
And I will make it through the first minute.
Maybe even the minute after that…
I can’t promise more.