{"sf1_id":1925264,"sf2_id":null,"title":"\"I Am Broken\"","author":"MyOwnParasite","words":372,"posted_at":"2022-11-25T11:50:00.000Z","tags":["Depression","Drugs","Poetry","mourning","nonfiction","overdose","suicidal"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1925264-i-am-broken","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/view/1925264","image_url":"https://www.sofurryfiles.com/std/thumb?page=1925264\u0026ext=.jpg","description":"#3 of Poetry, both old and new\n\nSomething I wrote during my worst of times, not long after the death of my beloved mate, many years ago...","content":"\"I Am Broken\"\n\nBy Ken Anderson, 2 November, 2013...\n\nI am broken;  \nA broken man.  \nSomething important  \nHas died inside.  \n  \nI swore to myself,  \nThat I would never again  \nLose control of my senses,  \nBut now, here I am...  \n  \nI drank so much liquor,  \nI poisoned myself.  \nAnd now, every day,\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;  \nI awaken to hell.  \n  \nAnd one week later,  \nI thought I'd recovered,  \nBut then came the pills,  \nAnd calls from my mother.  \n  \nThere's twenty-four hours,  \nIn each of these days,  \nBut for those lost moments,  \nI lived in a haze.  \n  \nToo scared to seek sleep,  \nFor the nightmares would come,  \nI wished to high hell  \nThat I still owned a gun.  \n  \nI opened my eyes  \nAnd a full day had passed.  \nThe last I remember,  \nI'd fell to the grass.  \n  \nThe cop took some pity,  \nAnd instead of jail,  \nHe took me to detox,  \nIt didn't end well.  \n  \nThe sixty-four xanax  \nI swallowed that night,  \nStill give me the shakes  \nAnd I wake up in fright.  \n  \nIt may not have killed me,  \nBut it might as well,  \nFor someone so \"blessed\"  \nI feel broken as hell.  \n  \nIt's been two more days,  \nAnd I can't help but think  \nWhat may have happened  \nIf I'd stepped to the brink...  \n  \nNo cliff is too high,  \nNo bayou too small,  \nEven now, I imagine,  \nOf ending it all.\u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;My friends have all left me,\u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp;There's scars on my hands.\u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp;It serves to remind me,\n\n.\u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; \u0026nbsp; I am a broken man...\n\n  \n  \n\n"}