Suicide Note
If I were to write a suicide note,
I would kiss every inch of the page, to drench it
With my last breathings of doomed love
If I were to write a suicide note,
I would spray each corner with Arabian perfume,
So you will always associate death not with the chilling scents of
Decomposing flesh, or freshly turned soil, but with a heady
Intoxicating fragrance
If I were to write a suicide note,
I would use many inks in rainbow colours, to soothe
The ache of my parting words – to paint a kaleidoscopic picture of
My beautiful misery
If I were to write a suicide note,
I would not waste time listing my miseries,
For they were countless, and too heavy for a sheet of paper
To bear
If I were to write a suicide note,
I would compose it sitting on my bed, my legs a creamy white
Against the starched white sheet, my face lifting now and then
To the window, to distract myself from the solemnity by
Observing my final sunset
If I were to write a suicide note,
I would use the word ‘love’ as often as my heart
Nervously beats, in preparation for the coming stillness
If I were to write a suicide note,
I would remind you that were it not for you I would
Never have lived at all
I would tell you how you lifted my soul,
How you dragged me up from the depths,
The proverbial lotus flower pushing its blooms through
The sucking black mud
I would tell you how you were always with me,
Even when you weren’t – how your memory
Haunted, gently, bitter-sweetly
I would tell you how every time I closed my eyes
I saw your face,
Etched by angel fingers on the thin red easels of my lids
I would tell you how, to me, this feeble dying girl,
You were the most beautiful thing in the world
More beautiful than fresh-blooming roses,
Or a tropical sunset
More sacred than temples or churches
More radiant than the sun,
That blazing god
More poignant than the moon,
In all her melancholy splendor
More overwhelming than my frail heart could bear
If I were to write a suicide note,
It would quickly become a love sonnet,
Devoted wholly to you
And my death would be lost in the subtext...
Copyright © Amy Van De Casteele | Year Posted 2009
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