Hope?

Destiny,
a street sign pointing left
when the road

is about to end.

Calculated moments...irreverence...

I felt it once...pretty certain that's what it was...

a future, life without anger, sadness and hatred
a calming sense of self
that everything would be okay

a little word followed by a simple word strung together into a sentence
a compliment

that

stung like a swarm...needles pricking, poking, sticking
drawing blood vile after vile

no refills
just emptiness growing
the sea deeper
the bridge taller
the blade longer
the rope stronger......

I spoke with her...Anne, that is...tried to anyway...along with Ingrid and Sylvia
their words flowed
like the air beneath butterfly wings
into my ears
settled the darkness
assured time that it had ticked away

a young child switching breasts...dead mother's milk is spoiled
left a rottenness inside.

I want to join them
find out if this anguish
this mental self-portrait with a blade at its throat

is the same as theirs...if the stories I see, hear and read are true
parallel to my own
ask them if they will comfort me

as I their words

...when the soul is empty...when the feeling has become..............................more than a feeling
an action
one final act
precipitous of a childhood.
painted by numbers
as they left
1,
then 2,
then 3...4...5...and so on...each colored in black........