On the verge I stood,
When,
Unfathomable depth enticed me,
I fell,
A fall that took me inside the hell,
A hell,
Where scream echoes, and quell.
I find no surface,
My soul longs only end,
End of fall? end of life,
Kill me,
Take me,
But give me space, give me surface.
Inside me monster lives,
A monster,
Eating me inside-out,
Tearing me,
Whipping me,
Smothering me,
I am only flesh and blood,
I am me, I am not dead?
Only miseries surround me,
Atrocities are routine,
It bleeds! Bleeds profusely,
But still I breathe?
I am not dead?
Do not save me,
Kill me instead,
Immediately,
I am not human,
I am not what I am,
Am I me?
Am I dead?
Very impressive. Perhaps, I know a bit about your personal life you shared; that's why I could empathize with the poem, the words, the tenor and the pathos. Otherwise, for the readers in general which includes me, the "unfathomable depth" at last turns out to be that of your thoughts and imaginative faculty. A pure case of sublimation.
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