~ while your soul screamed "help!"
the world heard only laughter ...
we loved you ... to death ~
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art borrowed copyright-free by the author from public domain files at FreePik / Picasa )
“Are you okay?”
No. My best friend of 13 weeks has refused to talk to me, refused to look at me, refused to watch me dance, refused to have any human contact with me and she’s interacting with everyone around her even a person she hates and she’s so much better at dancing now than she was when we were like twist ties and her mom read our texts about suicide and self harm and writing poetry and now her phone is gone for what has now been two weeks and she’s told other people about it except me and I’m scared for my life about what I’ve done and how I’m going to solve it and I hope she’s doing okay even though I’m not because I cant even watch her dance without shedding a single tear and I guess she’s better off without me because she’s improved a lot more than she ever would’ve when we were best friends and I’m now realizing no one knowing her feelings and her thoughts and plans of suicide was good for her because now she can’t talk to the one who knew everything and I’m now seeing that I’m the soil to every problem imaginable.
“Yeah, just stressed about my math grade.”
“It’s okay, it’s just a grade. Grades don’t define you.”
but she does.
Got bedbugs in my belly
Frogmen made of jelly
Sour, shallow, pools of pity
My hollow, wallow city
Jeepers Creepers on my trail
Crypt Keeper tells my tale
My flaccid finger fumbles
Then thunder rolls and rumbles
Hi-Yo Silver! Trigger falls!
My King Crimson stains the walls!
Then the black drips from my eyes!
Jackson Pollock wins the prize!
Hickory dickery doc, the arms move on the clock, you count the minutes until it's 12, the tears in your eyes begin to well. You write the letters in your books, to mom, to dad, anyone who would be glad, you count the seconds until its 12, until i get to move out of this hell, you tie the rope, you grab the chair, but you just stand there, the rope around your neck but not kicking the chair. You wait, wait until it's 12 and it finally comes, but you're scared, you cry until your eyes are dry, scared to die. So you untie the rope, get off the chair, your neck feels bare. You look at the clock and think in your mind "what would happen if i did it blind".
On the foot, I look the last time,
Waiting by the drizzling time
Thinking as I took a high on river bridge lies the line
'Dunno’, yh I don’t know
How to swim? How to be fine?
Deep in my thoughts, once again I climb,
Stretching across the brink.
Think I’ve to think a thing —
Just washed away by a blink.
Is this the end of the life I lived?
Who knows to carry off the bliss in hollow prime?
Ugly sudden stroke, a jerk, a mirror
Crackling through the aurora of pink sunset
'Help! Help!'
I looked, but it was hazy — tears had vagued my sight
An old woman drowning in the river,
Swept by the heavy flow
Do the empty, balding patches on my head express it to you?
How I’ve stayed silent
just so you could heal?
How I’ve cried endless nights over you,
just so I don’t ruin you any more than I have.
How you don’t even care to look me in the eyes
at dance or to even watch me dance.
How you dare to even say
“I don’t want a hug from you.”
To my face,
mind you.
Something I would never dare to do to you,
because I would be scared if I hurt you.
What have I done to deserve such hate?
What can I do to reverse it?
What have I done for you to not even look at me?
What can I do to reverse it?
What can I do to help you?
nothing.
They say you can’t count hairs,
but you sure can count the friends you’ve lost.
378 hairs.
only 7 friends.
I feel like I remember
What better was,
But I can't see it
as clear as I see my flaws.
Yet there is proof.
In photos and videos,
a memory of who I am,
that feels like an echo.
Cause I can see it
past the clouds of gray,
That yes, in fact, there was
Such a thing as a good day.
Days where my thoughts
didn't always win.
Days where a negative magnet
didn't pull the positive from within.
I try to catch a glance,
forcing my way into that moment,
back when I wasn't saving energy
for my mind's endless torment.
I've entered every password
that used to work before.
All those “get better” tasks,
but they're not working anymore.
But I can't remember.
It doesn't matter how hard I try.
I'm locked out of my own system,
with an error code.
Telling me to die.
Why are you so obsessed with ignoring me?
Just let me know you’re still there.
There was never a specific moment when I knew it was over
It could have been the first time breath refused to fill my lungs
Or when my own voice first shouted vile things inside me head
Maybe it was when I reached for that blade with shaky hands not knowing I would never put it down
Or when the shouting changed from mine to those whom I love
Perhaps it was when the cold sting of steel no longer made things go quiet
But I guess the first moments aren’t really the ones that matter as in the end they all lead to my last
Why am I so forgotten?
Why aren't I leaving an impression?
Why do I matter?
Without her,
i am nothing.
No hug.
No words.
No glances.
No…anything.
what have i done.
“illyyyy”
“Read 9/24/26”
“She’s not going to have her phone for a while.”
“Notebook, and texts from last night.”
“I don’t want a hug from you!”
ok.
i get it…
She’s said one sentence to me
in the past 72 hours.
She hasn’t hugged me,
she hasn’t talked to me,
she hasn’t even looked at me.
What have I done?
She’s talked to other people,
everyone.
Except me.
The one who’s been there for her.
The one who knows everything.
The one who knows her days of almost committing.
Yet she’s not responding to me.
“I don’t want a hug from you!”
I can picture her on her grey carpet floor
in her 11x10 bedroom.
I see her body,
cold to the touch.
She’s in her royal blue silk pajamas.
Her favorite.
She’s laying on her floor,
with a knife in her right hand,
left at a 103 degree angle upside down.
Feet sickled so much that
they could be twisted off in a second.
I see the blood pouring from not only her wounds,
but her scars.
The nails that dug into her thighs
are bruised from so much pressure.
The thighs that were dug by her nails
are now white.
I can picture her parents walking in,
not even looking at her,
but rather the stain she made
on the newly-replaced carpet.
“Why’d she do that?”
Everyone will ask.
because of me.
I think—
no.
i know.
“I don’t know.”
I’ll say instead.
I look at her,
I talk to her,
I walk past her,
I high-five her as much as I possibly can.
But all I get is a three-finger brush on one high-five of 17.
I feel her damaged nails from taking off her press-ons,
I feel her smooth, moisturized, fingertips brush against mine,
I feel all of her sorrow and pain
pass through my blood cells
and though my veins
and into my brain.
Why isn’t she asking for help?
Oh wait.
It’s me.
Sirens ringing through my ears.
My cold, dead body,
Laying on the brown, wooden, kitchen floor,
Holding a cheese knife in my left hand.
My neck split open, blood leaking out endlessly.
I hear the sirens of the ambulances
rushing to the back alleyway of my townhome.
All I hear is celebrating,
As the one I love the most
Can’t even talk to me.
Suicide
Just saying the word breaks my heart
admitting that my son died from it,
shatters my heart once again
I imagine it is in billions of pieces now
even worse is the thought that comes to
my own mind occasionally that maybe that
is the only way for the pain to end
The lie that seems to chase me everywhere
I go and whatever I do, just like it chased my son
It is NOT the answer and in my reality I know this,
but the nature of the beast steals into your pain
and whispers the lie over and over again
I REFUSE the lie and know that it is not true
but I also know that others hear the lie and in their
pain, they believe it
Please, do NOT believe it
the lie continues to spread pain and darkness
TALK about it
Join the fight against it
LOVE one another
SHOW KINDNESS
FIGHT the lie
Suicide Categories
Definition | What is Suicide in Poetry?
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