The Choice Poem by Paul Smith

I sit there in the hospital, not awake, but not asleep, in a dream, in a daze.
A policeman by side, a bed next to the nurse station, bloodied and battered.
Shock, anger, sadness, despair, shame, all going through my head at once.
How close was I to being released from this prison? But now, what now?

How did they find me? Why couldn’t they just let me go?
Everyone knows, everyone will whisper, everyone will judge.
No-one will ever understand the choice I made, nothing will ever be the same again.
All I see is a blur of faces and tears, and despair, so much despair.

Shouting, crying, screaming, how could you do this? Why didn’t you talk to us?
It all goes over me like a blanket of noise, my head empties of everything.
The morphine kicks in and I mumble one last thing before I pass out.
How close was I to freedom, to being born again?