Melodramatic poem on surviving suicide

(I changed my last name from May to Wolff because of an abusive upbringing. Overly confessionalist writing incoming.)

​

From ashes to ashes, I rise

And from tarot cards to quartz stones

I’ll play this game

​

Like a gypsy, I travel this land of cracked earth

Of Lazarus, of muted shades and vibrant screams

​

So it seems, here I am again

Another day with ticking clocks

And a rising flame

Blazes that bleed into the black of night

​

From the funeral pyre of desire

Lit by the scorching sun I face

With its fire of ire

​

To the third-degree it burns

Straight to core

Sending vessels into seas of blood

​

I see droplets dangling from bleeding hearts

Of course, they say, “Dying is an art.”

​

What good would it do if the songs

Last too long and the syllabic

Sounds linger in the ether?

​

But here I am, with black pen on burning page

Lining up letters like pills I spill

To strike oblivion

​

This realm of melancholia

Where I’m a hungry ghost

Eating the sins of time

Traveling dreadful coasts

In futile search

​

From the cold waters of the Pacific Blue

When I first brushed them at 14

To the Gulf I plunged into at four

​

The water has dried now

But the residue still clings

​

I can wash it with showers of cyanide

And gorge ambrosia

But my sallow skin still reeks of sin

​

The Wolff I’m forced to become can set me free

No longer will the days of May entrap me

​

With sword in hand, I still tread sullen land

As pen meets page, I’ll rise from hell

​

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/9m48x4/blame/e7ckc3c/?context=3

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/9lrwgq/codependent/e7ckmjf/?context=3

​