Wake-Up Call Poem by laterressa fowler

Deep breath, eyes on the pale white flesh of the inside of your wrist. Veins that look healthy, a palish blu.

Knowing the very place those veins are trying to supply with blood. Knowing all to well, its to late. for the very thing they supply has turned ice cold. Refusing to allow the blood to heat it up, to make it whole again.

Then you grin wryly. How can you make something whole thats been cold for so long? cold from years of giving and recieving little for the effort you put into caring. Cold from years of hoping only for a chance to shine. Only to realize the shining star you wished upon was sleeping for the better chances of tomorrows.

But why be cold when all i have to do is put a smiling face on my wrist. Its what everyone else does, right? A problem presents it-self and you can't stand feeling like your useless. or dirty. or cold.

So easy.

So simple.

So........so....... selfish.

That smiling face on your wrist is just a mocking smile of the devil. And if i give him just an inch, he'll grab it like nothing you've seen or felt before. Lets face it, life sucks both ways. but at least here you have semi-control. Make your decisions. live out what you plan.

Lifes so short. lifes like hell. lifes a piece of cake. lifes a beautiful but scary experience to anyone. It all depends if you can learn how to see the unexpected things life throws at you. you can let out your breathe now.