The Tip: Part 1. A Poem

The Tip graphic

On days like today I just couldn’t care less.

I just sit in my bed, not bothering to dress.

Just vaguely aware that my house is a mess…

From all of the symptoms it seems I’m “depressed.”


The question is “why.”


Why, when I have everything my comfort requires

Do i not know how to meet my soul’s deep desires?

Why, when I have all I need to survive

Am I never able to feel like I’m alive?


What is “alive”?

What is a “life”?

And what is the point, like the tip of a knife?


I realize how morbid my thoughts have become.

I shouldn’t feel like this. This feeling is dumb.

Maybe I’m just bored with my life

But dull boredom’s become sharp, like the tip of that knife

A stabbing pain in the back of my mind

In the pit of my soul

There’s a bloody deep hole.

My thoughts are all spinning right out of control!






Turn on the TV, the music, the news!

Anything to chase away these blues.

I’ll watch a good movie, or binge watch a show

Perhaps Dare Devil. Maybe Naruto.

But 5 hours later, when Netflix is dull,

That question starts bouncing around in my skull.


The question is “why”?


Why, when I have life and all that it brings,

Do I find that my life is not satisfying?

Why do i spend weeks days, and hours

Entranced by program, my own mind devoured?

Why is my life’s story still on the shelf?

Why have I spent my life hating myself?


What is “alive”?

And what is a life?

And what is the point, like the tip of that knife?


The morbid thoughts are back again.

They’re in my head, I can’t pretend.

My boring old life

Is filled with strive

Over lack of a point, like the tip of that knife.

…the tip of that knife…the tip of that knife!

Why am I back to the tip of that knife?

What is the point? Where is the point?

And what if the answer is “there is no point”?






Just get out of bed

No matter the time, my feet need to tread.

I hop on the machine, though I’m full aware,

That no matter the speed, I’m going nowhere.


Breath in [left right]

Breath out [left right]

There’s no [left right]

Way out [left right]


Breath in [left right]

Breath out [left right]

What’s life [left right]

About? [left right]


Why Why Why?


Why can’t I escape this question?

Why is my mind flowing in this direction?


What is “alive”?

What is “a life”?

What is the point, like the tip of that knife?

I feel like my life’s at the tip of that knife!

Tonight, I might be at the tip of my life!


I’ve come to the point, to the tip of that knife.

Now I’m on the razor’s edge of death and life.

I can’t drown it out or send it away.

I can’t obscure it with a high-def display.

The question that echoes in the depths of my soul

Is a painful reminder that i’m far from whole.


Why do I feel so hollow inside?

Why is it hard for me to sleep at night?

Why am I always on the verge of distress?

Why are my only modes “bored, anxious, and depressed?”


What is a life?

Why am I alive?

How do I move from “exist” to “thrive?

What is “alive”?

What is “life”?

What is the point like the the tip…


3:47am in my room,

The question of life has got me consumed.

Then beneath the silence of my mind’s great noise,

From without and within I hear a voice.




The “I” is not me. I know it is He who is I AM.

The one whom my heart struggles to believe is I AM.

Above all the noise, beyond the void, He says I AM.

While I’m out of joint, asking for the point, He says I AM.



I don’t want Him to be the answer. 

The point, like the tip of that knife

Because I know if this is the answer,

I have reached the tip of my life.


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