In This World Or The Other (Anywhere) Poem by Al J. Cuesta

The red descends, tickling your forearms

Your left hand gripping tight

Along with the other, now swollen, the right

The red now flows, down your chest

Which puffs out loud with every breath

You think for a moment of what your holding on to:

All the stairs you made

All the letters you signed in black ink with your name

All that you did and did not do

And that "all", you gave to them too



The red still drips, now touching your belly

Your thoughts pulling you down, they're just too heavy



As the red flows down, bellow your knees

The rope, your only hope, seems like its dying

The tensile fibres weak, already sighing

Probably it was already dead, before even trying

To put some life in it…



One by one the bricks you put in place fall from your wall

Withered by time and shook by something you think you hear: a call



A call you can only pick up once

A call telling you to leave it all behind

A call telling you it is all inside your mind

A call telling you

That there is no rope

That there never was


A call telling you

That there is no hope

That there never was



Only the red n' you falling

'N once you know this

'N once you cease to care

You realise



Only the red n' you alone are facing

That which some call bitter

That which some call better

The end.



‘N once you know this

'N once you cease to care

The red n' you start floating



To the freedom which is waiting

To the freedom which is there

To the freedom that is in truth, found anywhere



In this world,

Or the other.