These Final Days

Spent in complete ruins were these final days.
Unable to distinguish between night and day, what happened just hours prior and what happened years before.
Disassembling myself minute by minute, piece by piece, searching for answers to questions I was once too scared to ask.
Forever blurred are these lines between fact and fiction.

These final days were spent agonizing over a life gone wrong.
In a world where the only consistency was aging, I agonized over those experiences that I missed.
I hid away far too long, having been stung by hurtful words and broken by inconsiderate actions.
Unable to find my peace in a world that rejected me, I retreated to solitude and carved a niche in this tattered, old couch.

These final days were not filled with regret as much as they were in denial. 
A lifetime of awkward glances and misguided rationales had slowly but firmly taken their toll.
The walls that were once built to protect had long since crumbled, exposing me again to the rigors of society.  
Beaten to a pulp far too often without ever having been physically touched.

This final act I can say, with certainty, was not a selfish one. 
My aim was to punish no one but to simply remove myself from this equation by forever ridding myself of this agony. 
If this result seems cruel, hateful, or unfair, please know that this was not a selfish move.

These final days were spent remembering all of those who I had lost.
I recalled the people in my life who did the right thing, who were purposeful in their existences, and whose hearts were full of love.  
I thought about those taken away from this world much too early who had so much left to share, who had so much left to accomplish. 
I reminisced about those taken from me without my permission; I’ve been unable to process this suffering ever since.

Spent in complete desolation were these final days. 
Sadness riddled my core and stole from me even the slightest appreciation of anything that once mattered. 
Something was constantly gnawing, hindering, dragging me to new depths I was ill-prepared to handle.
Never has there been so much hostility, irritability, and desperation as there is at this exact moment.

Hot, thick tears streamed down my cheeks during these final days.
Just like the battles before, this last fight was an internal one, unknown to anyone besides me.
The voices in my head that wish me nothing but harm far outnumber these last lines of a shattered defense.
While this all seems completely unfair, I have lost all interest in fighting this unbeatable war.

This final act I can say, with certainty, was not a selfish one. 
My identity could no longer be the man filled with so much anguish and despair that he could no longer move.
If this result seems cruel, hateful, or unfair, please know that this was not a selfish move.

Raw anger. Raw disappointment. Raw misery. Rejected from a world in which you can’t find your place.

We fail to protect ourselves until it is too late.

Written in 2014

Copyright, The Poetry of Bryan Buser