Lullaby

Granted I could show you,
Display for you,
Play out for you,
Everything, my all.
Then again,
What would it matter if my inspiration's
Not my own?
I see these cases, of suicides,
suicidal attempts,
Not being able to help but think,
'I bet you if that happened to me,
I could write about it.'
Then I float back,
Back and up,
Up and through to,
Consciousness.
I'm not that person,
I haven't felt that pain,
Yet one day I know,
I have to...
I'm terrified its close,
Yet willing to let it come,
Get it over with you know?
Let it hit me now.
"Drift to sleep,
Darlings it'll be okay,
Happiness tonight,
Horror expected tomorrow."
No.
That isn't how this works.
It's going to catch me off guard,
I'm not gonna see it,
And its going to be the worst thing,
I've ever felt.
Something I've only seen in fiction,
Yet writing could never describe.
I'll do it for them.
I'll press on.
"I'm not afraid."
But inside,
I'm terrified.
Death waits for no one,
Hurts all,
Destroys all.
In the end, everything was temporary,
Your goals,
Dreams,
Happiness,
Depression,
Sadness.
All of it is briskly taken.
Lifted from your grasp,
And you're lullabied to sleep.
Forever.
Never to wake.
What is inspiration,
Without a little pain?
But how to write,
Of self-inflicted emotional tragedies.
Whisper to me now,
At some time I've got to see...
At some time...
You'll make me watch somebody I love...
Get lullabied to sleep.