Narrative Suicide Poems

These Narrative Suicide poems are examples of Narrative poems about Suicide. These are the best examples of Narrative Suicide poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative |
Gone Girl.....

That razor blade
Is her paint brush/
That canvas... Is her wrist
Her rush
Of blood/ To her head/
She's been painting deep into her flesh!.....

Her pain is still aching/
Her hands dripping with blood
She couldnt stop shaking/
That Paint brush Soaked up
Some of her pain/
Still a broken girl remained
Staring out her window pain

Heading down that lonely road/
she plagued/
with illness/ depression state/
Raged/ is reckoning/
taking over her brain/
every thought is plagued/
With depression/That's she been trying to escape/
But she trapped/ She feels she's been raped/
Of her old self/ She screaming
But no one seems to help/
She yelled/
With noone there except her self/

She so sick of seeing her reflection everywhere/
So she smashed up every single mirror/
She can't face her fears/
Her demons are over so powering its clear/
What she must do/
She thinks these only one way out/
And its now time over due

To get away from her broken home/
She Tried not to show/ no emotion/
But she holds emotion In/
like a renowned poet/ Whos constantly Going back over it/
So its now her time to go...

No love/So the blood stains/
On her paint brush!

A broken child/ with a broken smile!
That never should have gave up/
She painted her face with clown make up/
With a Smiley face
To hide the frown/Because beneath that make up/
Her tears fell to the ground/ Where depression held her down..
But she never cried out loud/ She was way too proud

But her parents love soon departed/
In fact they never new she was an art-ist!
She kept It secret/
Until the day she cut too far
Barely missing her main art-eries

They never knew about her secret world behide her wardrobe/
If you could switch roles/
And go into HER mind of a broken soul/
And you'll find out how far the rabbit hole goes/

Her secret past/
Came back to haute her/
No one saw that masterpiece/
called "the crying daughter"/
Would it be a masterpiece/
If she was still hear today/
That's remains to be said/
let me paint the picture for you..Instead/
That Paint splattered covered In red/
Covers her face but can't cover
Those whispering noises/
In her head/
There Getting lounder/
She is screaming but she feels voiceless/
In the world that now surrounds her/

She now paints deep into her flesh 
So she can escape that madness, 
If not for one hour or one second
She's now a drug addifted felon
Who never learnt her lesson

Her hand is steady
She feels ready
To force the razor blade deep into her flesh.....
Her wrist now blead, dripping
Onto the cold bathroom floor
Those noises whispering
In her head Fade
Only for
Her to wake

The room is white
Not like/ her bathroom
This one is bright...
Nurse she awake!

Her silent screams
That have become so deadly
Her nightmares are now her dreams
She thinks she not worthy
Of life, Not knowing why she decides
To die...

Tears rolling down her face
As she heads to the bathroom and grabs 
The razor blade
She forces the sharp blade across her wrist once again

Im telling you her story she confessed
As the medics,Didn't make it in time
She lying on floor dead
Her poem left, in her hand that read....

The deep dark red 
That Paint now pours 
Onto the cold floor
My body cold
The pain fades away
Along with my soul
Im Finally falling into an endless sleep
No Screams/ Just a faint sound of sirens
No more crying/ I finally feel complete
With nothing but complete.. Silence.

Credits most go to another poetry soup member
for the opening line,not sure who but i remember seeing it
and thought i would add my own thoughts to it.
That razor blade
Is her paint brush/
That canvas... Is her wrist

Copyright © Jamie Walker | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |

It’s one o'clock in the morning on a Monday
Not much to look forward to this week.  Just another week in the life of a workingman.  Punch the clock.  Punch the boss.  What’s the difference?  A paycheck.  Living week-to-week and scrounging around for sustenance. You call this a life?  I call it hell.

  Yes hell is right here on this earth.  No need to go looking for it.  It will find you soon enough.  And in it’s time it will drive you mad.  Mad as a hatter.  You will grow into this vision of capitalistic euphoria and then realize that the numbing of your soul is a tiger that smiles on a box of cereal.....It’s frosted flakes.  Corn flakes dressed up like a transvestite on the corner or your life; a corner that you can’t turn.  It keeps coming back like a dream of cornfields withering in the August heat.  Billowing up and the fading to gray mindless matter that drifts down and settles on your brain.

Rows and rows of the same green dragon grinning with a twinkle in its eye that pulsates with every breath you draw.  You can try and plow it under but it will grow back like a virus.  You can’t escape the endless letting of your blood to the Man.  You kneel down and pray like a fool.  Did you not hear the whistle blow it’s five o’clock in the afternoon?  You will have wasted another day in this meaningless mire of apocalyptic goo.

Dream if you must.  Let the fires burn in the fields of your dreary illusions.  But for God’s sake don’t forsake your love for the job. The Man waits and the money goes into his account.  Don’t give up there is a pension and one day you will you fly to Hawaii and limp on the beaches of your sorrowful work. 
You put the gun against your head and feel the cold steel against your skin.  I can’t do this anymore you think.  Pull the trigger.  I can't do this anymore you think.  Pull the trigger.  You lay the gun down next to the glass filled with sorrow.  You have a mortgage and a wife and kids.  You have to do this.  And so it goes.  Life is always there and is stronger than death.  But the gun is always there too.  What should you do?  Pray to the Man because he is your keeper? Or take a chance on life?
The rusty cage of work will hold you and feed you but you will never break free until you realize that it is you that lives in your soul and you are a not a Godless animal but a child of this world.  Don't let this world pass you by my friend.
Live free.
Die free.

Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
He looked at me with
begging eyes,

Hiding in his own world.

All knew his looks,
But none knew him.

No one realized
who he was.

Alone, desperate.

Then one day,
Everyone closed in on him

Their daggers pointing
At the only feeling he had:


He let out a sob
One small sob that told them everything

They walked away.
But they never ceased to push and shove him

Dislocating his heart and putting sorrow to his words.

They never realized
What they were doing

Until it was too late.

He put a sword to his heart and said,
"I love you, mom and dad, but now it's time for me to go."

Stabbing his heart,
He cried.

He lay there, his cold and still body radiating sorrow

The others never glanced,
But I looked at him.

I carried him out,
Not understanding why others would do this.

When we held a funeral,
Some said he was kind and so I asked,

"Where were you when he needed you?"

Copyright © Oishi Bhattacharya | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
My beloved wife

It was the crows calling that gave the final warning on this mid October morning.
Just as the mist began falling upon the hills in a strange manner that was almost unnerving.
This morn shall be my final calling as my soul begins souring high above the clouds on this mid October morning.
Signalled by the single rose placed upon my coffin.
Not a healthy rose but one that's wilting, It's red petals fading and it's leaves browning.
It was placed upon my coffin by a loan woman who stands morning on this bitter October morning.

She turns towards home and begins walking, towards my old manor house that now stands rotting.
She passes the spot in the garden where she hid the knife the other morning, just before the police came calling.
Alerted by the chamber maid screaming upon discovering by body laying bleeding.
Murder was the diagnosis, probably by a burglar was the prognosis.
The window was broken and my jewellery was stolen.
They didn't bother to ask about the missing kitchen knife, it was all falling into place for my dearly beloved wife.

As she approached she questions what she saw, large boards placed upon the entrance door.
Upon the door a sign held by a single rusty nail, it read this property is now for sale.
Due to deceased occupants an auction will now take place, in gods grace she calls out from behind her veil of lace.
This can't be true, I felt the morning dew seep through into my newly bought shoe, she pauses for breath as she begins to think things through.
Now the truth begins dawning that it was her soul and not her body that left the hill this morning.
We are now two souls exploring, one up and one down on this bitter October morning.

Copyright © Damien Biggs | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
I’m friends with the skeletons in the closet,
Knives, razors and all sharp instruments are my best friends.
Poison; they’re my parents,
Guns are my cousins.
Water save me i'm drowning,
fire help me i'm burning; they’re my aunties and uncles.
And me…
My name is Suicidal.

Copyright © Sedain Sangster | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
She’s ugly?
Well maybe yes she is,
All ‘cuz she never wears make up
And tries not to fake it up.
She’s too clingy?
Well maybe yes she is,
All ‘cuz she doesn’t want you to forget her love
No matter how much it gets tough.
She’s rude?
Well maybe yes she is,
All ‘cuz of fear of losing herself
And thinking there’s no one else to help.
She’s a creep?
Well maybe yes she is,
All ‘cuz she’s better and you secretly envy
Still you never know how much her thoughts lie.
She’s a pain?
Well maybe yes she is,
But not to you, to her for sure,
Always losing and always bruising.
She’s a bitch?
Well maybe yes she is,
All ‘cuz she stands whatever is against her pride
And doesn’t let her hate hide.
She’s a slut?
Well maybe yes she is, 
The reality is, you made her one
All ‘cuz she talks to every sad guy.
She should disappear?
Well maybe yes,
She tried, and is trying every day, every moment.
With note of blood and feelings in her hands,
With stories and days recorded in her sorrow land,
With a silent cry in every breath she takes,
With a silent scream in every tear she sheds.
She lies and lies to make else smile
She gets weaker and weaker in every battle she fights.
Suddenly, those words and criticism don’t work anymore,
Slow and slow her thoughts give up.
No one know did she win or leave up?
Now you cant even question her.
‘cuz she’s no more able to answer.
Maybe that was the way she chose to wash away everything
And maybe this was the last thing she ever wrote.
Maybe she was me.

Copyright © Sweksha Karna | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
These monsters inside me,
I can’t seem to push them away.
I might as well accept them
Because they say they’re here to stay.
We laugh together, we cry together.
For my soul that died when I lost faith,
Lost faith in people I thought would be there.
I lost faith in people, who said they cared,
I even lost the feeling called fear,
I fear nothing anymore because I’ve been hurt by family,
The ones I thought would have my back 
And stay by my side through any crap.
I’m living, but my soul is dead.
Sometimes I hear voices inside my head.
They are there with me through every mood I face,
The monsters inside me just can’t be replaced,
I’m depressed and sad, they hate seeing me this way.
They’re the monsters inside of me and I don’t want to push them away
Cause now I no they love me,
All they want is to see my sadness fade.
My heart is permanently broken,
And it can’t be fixed or replaced.
The monsters inside me are here to stay.

Copyright © Sedain Sangster | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
Water on the ground 
At a continuous flow 
Having no where to go 
Breaking out 

From a girl so lost 
A girl despised
A girl who suffered
More than most 

She loses hope 
In those who care 
In everything 
Even prayer 

She lacks the strength 
To go outside 
She’s filled with lies 
With a heart defied 

She believes she meant to hurt
She believe she’s meant to die 
She starts to believe 
All of those lies 

No where to turn 
Oh how she thought 
She was blinded by the fear 
Of reaching out 

She cut she cut 
Till she bled 
Till at last that one fateful day

She cut ties with the world 
And went away 

All who mourned her lost 
Never realizing the pain within 
Of a poor lost girl 
Thinking she was sin 

Dedicated: to my friend who lost sense in the world. She couldn't handle all the pain. i know shes in a better place. But i miss her. this is just how she saw the world

Copyright © bridgette lder | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
Let the kids grow
They're kids in the hood that wants to go the negative route.
They're    kids in the hood that think being all good and optimistic is a waste of time.
Please let the kids grow positively.
The responsibility lies in the parent's and the older siblings to the little younger ones.
I cry tearfully when kids die in school.
I die speechless when they end up like their family.
To let the kids grow please leave a better example.
Don't try.
Don't do the best.
Just do the right thing for the kids to grow. 
Every thug is always   lost when they fall dirty in the streets and can't provide shit to their kids.
What if there wasn't no school shooting? 
Will the kids be all   right? 
What if there wasn't  no shooting at the   playground? 
Will the kids be all right? 
What if there wasn't no Juvenile center or a Mental  Institution  ? 
Will the kids be all right? 
What if there wasn't no shooting at the movies or at the corners? 
The bullet  always have a name on it when it points back.
But will the kids be all right? 
Put down the guns for the kids.
Stand for the right thing for the kids.
Every fault of your kids danger lies in you.
Let the kids grow. 
Let them be something.
Let them be a man.
Let them be a woman.
Don't let the past lie in something bad for you to regret later on.
Because deep down in the last minute the past of the years can't be change just to let go and move forward.
The kids are more important than us.
They need love.
They need to be taught.
They don't need to be in danger.
They don't need to be killed.
What if there wasn't a Columbine high school shooting? 
Will some of the kids survived by not being wounded and killed.
What can I say the world isn't nice.
The world is   hypocritical.
The world is   judgmental.
The world is full of killers.
We survive and survive the struggle every day.
We are always surrounded by danger if we are not careful.
Let the kids grow.
Let the kids live.
Let the kids play.
Put down the guns.
Stand for right.
And please make a better expression for your kids.
This goes out to all the kids that feel not blessed enough not feeling the love and to say that don't be like your parent's your siblings who has a criminal record doing wrong be better than that rise up to the higher advance expectation and once you are up there then you can be anything that you want to be if you just put in work.
Let the kids grow please.

Copyright © Cmack Estevez | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
You were taken to soon.
Ripped away from us.
You knew it was our final goodbye.
But the truth was hidden.
With a tear in your eye,
There was one last goodnight hug.
I wiped away the tear,
Then smiled and walked away.
By the time of the morning light
It was already too late.
You were gone and to a better place.
Never knew of your acknowledged your pain.
Of your suffering
Sometimes I wonder,
"If I only cared more
Would you still be here?
If I only hurt less,
Would you still be here?"
I'd deny it if I could.
But inside we both know,
I am the reason
You went away.

Copyright © Gwendolyn Coffey | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
Underneath the sky 
Die hard, or harder to know why
If I won't survive tonight

My friends, don't you ever cry. 

Beneath the skin
myself is collapsing 
If I won't stop from breaking

My friends, don't you try helping.

Ending is near
Hoping there's nothing to fear
If I can't stop the tears 

My friends, don't you ever come near.

Copyright © James Hou | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
I wake to cold sweats scratches
From Sleeping on this broken mattress
Outside is cold but its my home, My palace
My brain crashes from this addiction
I so I need that fix to get me back high
I'm trying to fix the broken pieces missing inside
I've seen heroin take my best friends life
Yet I still inject it, Why? 
Why wont this addiction just Roll over
Now I'm diseased with this thing called bi polar
A world trapped in eternal sadness
For others beautiful for some so numb
While I'm covered in an eternal blackness
They say I need to take these pills before 
I turn to madness
But there my thorn digging my side
As sharp as a cactus 
No wonder I have this cuts of pure madness
Because it aches stomach pains Nausea vomiting, Insomnia
Give me a story of drama
But then my dis honer
Had to cut my wrist to see that this blood
is thicker than is vodka
Slowly sinking under water
Holding a ton of bricks on my shoulder
Only makes me stronger
In order to move on we have to see the rain
live through the pain
before we get that sunshine once again!

Copyright © Jamie Walker | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
As the slam of the door echoed through the quaint house, a line was drawn through the peace that once flowed. She raced to the shed outside where she kept her pride and joy, her peace and serenity... Her happiness. Heart begging for the sea, where she spent most of her time she paddled through the lapping waves, the stress that was mounted on her shoulders bellowed from the depths of her soul and cried out in anguish. The pain fled, acid ran down her swollen face leaving grades of red on her pale complexion.
It seemed to be hours. The sun was setting tracing long streaks of pink and gold in then iridescent sky. Alone on the sand she grabbed her guitar and began to play, she played and played, played until the black of her worn strings wrapped around her battered fingers... Her soaked hair trickled water down her guitar like the grades of red that washed her beautiful complexion.
Abuse was inscribed on her body like stains on a newly washed jacket. She was too young for this... Symbols of her pain, depictions of anger and jealousy. She didn’t deserve this.
No more was this to reign over her existence. . . With one swift movement. Peace was restored. She valued nothing more than their love. . . destroyed.

Copyright © miguel williams | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
A girl in a red hat, walking home from campus, looks up and sees an elderly man stepping out on the window edge of an aging apartment building. She considers the distance from the ledge to the ground and determines that the fall will surely kill him. She is busy memorizing the look of the man, slightly too tight clothes, patchy grey hair; a man notices her gaze upward.

	He follows her eye-line, and upon seeing the old man he yelps, “don’t jump!” He dials emergency and explains the situation to an uninterested operator. A small crowd has gathered during his conversation, waiting for the man to make his decision. The girl wonders how old the man actually is, he can’t have much time left anyways.

	A middle-aged woman joins the anxious crowd; she pats down her frizzy red hair while thinking of how great a story this will be to tell her husband. Tonight he will listen intently to her for the first time in months. “Do it man!” yells a teenage boy, approving of his show of rebellion against society. Quickly after, an old lady with crooked fingers thumps him on the head.

	The old man sees the approaching brigade of cop cars. “I don’t have much time left anyways,” the man justifies his decision, and turns around ducking back into the building he draws the scarlet curtains, leaving a crack for sunlight to lay upon the dusty floor. A collective sigh of disappointment rises from the crowd and into his window. Its fine, what is one more upset in a life full of mistakes? The girl is the first to walk away; she remembers she has to pick up milk.

Copyright © Courtney Thorstein | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
You thought you got the best of me, but when the day is through,
All I have is a memory, and a thought of losing you.
You lead use to a paradise, past our fears and our regrets 
When we shard smile I wish I could Have said;
I’ve got 100 words on paper, a million more I’d say.
The days are are getting darker, ever scenes you went away. 
I’ll carry you body through the halls of time, these memories still feel real.
The laughs, the cries, all the moments I shared, is a Moment I wish you where here.
And now your gone, faraway, My heart still feels the pain. 
Your spirit is free and its near the end, but there still so much Id say.
If I had one more day with you, I would never go away.
I would hold your hand and do the thing we never had.
But in our wake, its not my time, and all journeys have to end.
So I’ll hold my head up high and watch you in the sky.
Looking down on me looking down on use until that day that I can;
Around the moon! And back again I’d race once I’m there!
Just rest your wing and think of me all the times we’ve shard.
You truly got the best of me, and soon the days are done.
Every night Ill count the stars and dream that your the brightest one.

Copyright © Nikodu Blue | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
Deep in the cave inside my heart
Is the place you'll never be
It's sealed and locked forever now
Because you threw away the key

You've stolen all my faith in life
And my ability to love
I have no big accomplishments
Or accolades to be proud of

Remember when we got shit-faced
and went to New York City?
You left your sweater in the cab
and it got really chilly

We barely caught the train back home
You fell asleep in my arms
You cuddled close and held my hand
And drew me in with your charms

But in your sleep, you called his name
I should have figured by then
But I was naive and stupid
Because I trusted you again

As much as I want to tell you
What you really did to me,
I can't because what comes to mind 
Are those sights I can't unsee

And all the while you were seeing him
As our "love" continued to grow
I thought that this was all my fault
But it was YOU I didn't know

You left me for another man
Wait, that's not exactly right
It's more like I walked in on you
Betraying my trust that night.

So I'll be forced to live with this
Well, not for very long
I hope you get what you deserve
Because you were in the wrong

Nothing will matter anymore
Not once I've tightened this noose
Everything will fade into black
And I'll be free from life's abuse

06/09/2016 - Tomas Vazquez

Copyright © Tomas Vazquez | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
i love you dangerously  that you were the fire and i was the gasoline like if we could ever come together.... like a grenade we would both explode

Copyright © Rouna Kyle | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
The black dog sleeping in the corner of my mind 
He's keeping a watchful eye on me, ready to steal my mind
well black dog I'm leaving you at rest  and making a  break for bliss 
I'm dreaming of laughter filled days away from the grief 
No  black dog barking orders at me 
I'm descending from the mountains of madness 
And entering a valley at peace 
No more worries about money,  wars,  or relationships  
just what sort of ice cream should I have with this cake.
Wait can I hear barking, the black dog not waking from sleep !
No  its the sound  of marching band , the  victory parade 


No its the sound of the train that's just ended my pain .  
me and the black dog are dead. 

The idea for the poem come from watching the invictus games soldiers coming back from war zones effected by what they have seen .

Copyright © stephen pennell | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
I did not love you,
Nor do I now...
Life burrowed deep in you...I thought.
Nor know I how
You took it away...and sought
To ease the pain,
To stop the rain,
and die.

I did not know you,
Nor do I now...
You left earth and dark.
Nor did I allow
your killing - so swift and stark
to take my breath
To lure my death
And cry.

I did not mourn you,
Nor do I now
I despise the act of Hate...the shot.
Nor can I endow
Your despair - your lonely fear
to grasp my memory
to cease me to be...

Copyright © Patricia Langston-Moran | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative |
It was love at a distance that 
I watched your art of escape
 turn to paint by numbers.
I wish I saw you fill in those empty spaces 
Something else
Anything else 
Other than all your tears
Which created that gray ocean of
All your future plans. 
Its waves could never be tamed
Or propositioned 
You were always going to be just another mariner 
Lost at sea.
Only you chose to swim 
Away from your boat
To guarantee that there 
Was never going to be a return 
To this country of serrated mornings.
Even the mornings after
Site in waiting
For those who have embraced the walk of shame.
I wish I could pay the fare
For the taxi to bring you back
For a moment of black coffee
To where I can smell the honeysuckle in your hair
And to teach you how to use the third rail to light our dreams
Only lay your tongue down till it feels real.
It’s easy to play in the dream of the silent snow.
Its’ a harder trick to return to anything 
But waiting rooms
And the heavy metal door that waits
Always waiting for.

Where were you going
Without your passport 
And did you know that 
All there is to meet you
At these port cities which leads you back home
 are the iron gates 
Where all
Women who bloody their fists from banging on the bars
Or ghost 
It’s a good thing ghosts don’t bleed
To awaken the guards
Let us back in!
Perhaps you should have surrendered to Bellevue
Or Pilgrim 
They are always willing to take you back.
But as I stated
There was never going to me any return.
Now that the last ballot has been cast
The human carnival may have reached its end.
Your escape may have come at the right time.
You always had timing with perfect precision  
After all
The music of the summer carousel is fading
While the Midnight carousel’s gears
Grow deafening.

Copyright © Matthew Abuelo | Year Posted 2017

Details | Narrative |
They say your whole life
is revealed as you die.
That you'll remember each
and every little lie.

Like when your mom asks,
"Are you sure you're okay?"
And your grim reply, "Yes."
Choked up your airway.

Those times in your room
when you fell asleep crying,
wanting it to end fast.
All you thought about was dying.

I can still remember clearly
waking in my own blood.
I didn't want it enough.
My attempt was a dud.

But this time is different,
I just can't take the pain.
It'll soon be over now
with the help of this train..

Copyright © Tomas Vazquez | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
I'm sorry I haven't written in some time 
I've been lost in myself. I've been trying to find 
just one reason I shouldn't leave this life behind 
close the door on the past, which still torments my mind 
sure, I know all these years you've been trying to prod 
me along the right path saying “let go, let God” 
but to let go of guilt is what seemed to evade me 
for some reason not even God could persuade me 
There's so many times that I've wanted to die 
that I've wanted to call you and just say goodbye 
but I'd suddenly see the tears fall from your eyes 
so I'd drink myself numb and continue the lie 
I've been living and still live to this very day 
I just want it to end, I cannot live this way 
anymore, please just know I'm not putting the blame 
on you. You're not the reason I'm living in shame 
If I told you I loved you I probably meant it 
but words weren't enough, so you'll probably resent it 
There's so many things I've been needing to say 
I've kept locked up inside, my fear stood in the way 
and I've lost all these years to my selfish desires 
I've laughed as your dreams for us slowly expired 
If there was just one thing left for me to do 
I would go back in time to the day I met you 
and forget all those things that you wanted to show me 
I'd just walk away so you would never know me 
Forgive me for every word that I'm saying 
I know with each word that I'm surely betraying 
the hopes and the dreams through the years we have built 
but your innocence just cannot outweigh my guilt 
so good bye and I'm sorry. I'll always regret 
how I came to be someone you'll never forget. 

Copyright © william borntrager | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative |
Probably you’ve met people who know too much
about things that rarely matter to you;
the price of all kinds of kinds of ropes,
the best places to bungee jump,
the weakest points of our bodies,
the right location of our arteries…..
Sometimes people know some things,
so as to know how to take their lives.
Those are the best people to talk to,
and show them they’re not alone…..

Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2017

Details | Narrative |
You seemed nice enough
but friends of friends 
are strangers
Why it is I
who throws
a corked bottled 
to the sky
I know this much
being epileptic and gay
were not enough
of the ex-military father
who told you 
at thirteen
you were born gay
you were normal
Did you hate yourself
or your parents
for loving one unworthy
Was this the final act of devotion
You let them find you
hanging in their house
a still chime
in the dead air
I leave you this limp frame
I have tried to love
knowing you will lower it gently
guarding blond curls
so they do not strike the floor
wrapping the arms around you
pretending they do so voluntarily
whispering thanks
for all the hard years
remembering the same body
newly born
cradling it now as then
crooning in tongues to night's ear
so I may sleep
And sleep you do
your prayers answered
But who suffers more
you in solitary desperation
or those who lower blessings
into thankless ground
The night may bring gifts
but thoughts of the dead
are not among them
scrolled in the bottle
back from the sky
assuring that no demons lurked 
in blackness
nor that your conscience bled
Checking off the hopes and fears
that would make the eulogy
one a stranger said
for someone else
Acceptance is the blood 
we draw from stones
and though we persevere
we are still the children
imaging life 
in blinking stars
holding on
for one wish

Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2017