Suicide On Anger Road

Always seated in the back of the class
Yet still heart pounded, hands sweated…trembled
When teacher took leave of His chair
To walk among us…
Searching for volunteers

Thoughts of dread flashed through my mind
Anxiety, shortness of breath…
Lump in my throat
Pounding in my head
As reluctantly, fearfully…
Ink flows across a page
Until the pen clogs
I shake it down only to find
A Rorschach test…incidental
(don’t call on me…please not me…)
So great a distance from here to there
How long must this torment be endured?

Can’t You see the hands raised of those more eager to please?
Why search so diligently
Whilst there be willing volunteers?
Feint of heart, weak of flesh not even willing…
Though I shout “unclean!, unclean!
Yet You draw near
Take to the hills of a faraway land
Place distance between self and fear of You
Where it is safe for broken child
To transition into angry broken man
Decades later return to find
Along with anger…
So too followed broken heart, confusion and broken mind

Every flashing light…
Every car alarm or nearby siren
Made me cower…
Made me hide…
On the veneer false bravado…
But…living a marginal life fractured, distracted, apprehensive
Feeling hunted like prey on the inside
Years without change
Pass like days 
But Teacher is insistent
Teacher is patient
Teacher is kind
Teacher never abandoned
Hands clasped behind Him…
In a knowing slow purposeful stroll of the wise…
Teacher was just biding His time 
Once more He’ll take leave of His seat
To walk among us…
“Anthony…come hither” 
Such a common name, I think to myself
Could be any one of many, certainly not i?
I cannot avert His gaze…
In defiance fall dead by my own hand
“My hand?”
Was never truly my own but His
And by His hand…
My hand is raised.
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