Drinking Vial Depression

I am Juliet, romancing

depression like a star-crossed

lover, and drinking a poisoned vial of knowledge

to freeze the tic-toc of suffering. Graves and rosy

cheeked epitaphs serendade my hopes and dreams

with youthful ignorance. We elope to escape the tyranny of

commitment. Brow, not yet soiled by sweat, does not

have the strength to withstand suicide’s slander. So I lie, willingly,

in wait for my Romeo to rescue. And leave the priests to ask,

“Death, what are your intentions?”

Published by

Karisa Moore

I lost my son to suicide. Each day since, I commit my day to turning the page and continuing to write my story. There is no deeper grief, but I know too, that there is no greater hope than bringing life out of death. I offer each page to you as a testimony that there is hope for abundant life!

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