By SGT B
One round prepared to blast
Thoughts racing, heart pounding
Considering the obscene
But a phone call saved me
I put on a hospital gown
Sobbing uncontrollably
Stepping into the ambulance
I wonder, how did I get here
A room with a camera
Four walls surround me
Trapping me, suffocating
Meant to prevent my demise
The doctor sees me
A plastic cup with pills
A mandatory sentence
72 hours to contemplate
It gets better he says
Put down the bottle
It’s going to kill you
But all I want is a drink
Thoughts of sand and heat
A sense of not belonging
Wishing I was still there
Unable to replace it
Family calls, concerned
Where were they before
It’s not their fault
I pushed everyone away
Struggling for years
Solace found in poison
The book almost closed
But a phone call saved me