Praying to The Unicorns

I wrote this about a very real time in my life. I was suicidal. It lasted for years. This poem perfectly describes the desperation and fear I felt. Please read it with caution as it may trigger some strong emotions.

It may take the shape of poetry

Praying to the Unicorns? No. Not praying.

Begging.

Pleading.

Wailing.

Unicorns are as real as Gods and sons of Gods when

your wrists are slit open. When

you are bleeding out. When

there was no other option, no other person, no other thought, feeling, emotion.

Only desperation.

Praying to the Unicorns makes as much sense as accepted nonsense, water to wine, bread and fishes, invisible power listening, caring, allowing pain and

suffering

no proof of existence.

Unicorns are as real as Gods and sons of Gods when

you are crawling or curled. When

your body spasms. When

your thoughts hurt. When

there is only one emotion, one feeling,

never ending pain.

Begging

the Unicorns to make it stop.

Pleading

for release, for relief.

Wailing

and railing, raving and ranting until

the pills, all the pills

finally kick in and you start to fade.

The Unicorns disappear as quickly as Gods and sons of Gods when

Your wrist is gripped tight, so tight

in the back of the ambulance. So tight

you cannot peel back those latex fingers, though you try. So tight

freedom slips away as you drift, waking handcuffed

to a hospital bed. Your only crime not being

heard, not being

granted mercy, relief, freedom, sweet death, an end

to the pain.

The Unicorns disappear as quickly as Gods and sons of Gods when

you wake up in four point restraints, puking and shitting, when

punishing eyes follow your every move and the Unicorns and Gods are replaced

with anger and accusation. When

no praying is left.

My life has been saved

so many times, forced

upon

my unwilling heart. Pounded

into

onto

my already tender soul until

I’ve grown old.

Desperation faded.

Shamed child soothed

not by magic but

by her adult self.

Not by Unicorns or

Gods or sons of Gods.

Desperate pain granted

mercy, given

freedom, tamed

by myself and love.

No more begging.

No more pleading.

No more wailing.

No more slit wrists, overdose.

No more handcuffs, four point restraints.

No more gripping tight so tight.

No more punishing eyes, accusations.

Replaced by joy and love and boredom and pride, yes

pride, and every thought, every feeling except The One.

No more desperation.

No more Gods and sons of Gods.

No need.

The Unicorns can stay. Every once in a while, I’ll pray.

It may take the shape of poetry.

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This poem first appeared here

Lead image: Photo by Emiliano Vittoriosi on Unsplash