i. It's a sinking gagging feeling that happens when you know the last period is about to dot your life. When the pills finally sink into the blood vessels of the brain and start to dance erratically.
I will be smelling flowers out in the fields when I fall. At least I hope I will be.
ii. And so the headaches start, thinking so painful that the legs will not move, and I hope I won't throw up and choke on my own mistakes. A leaf betwixt the teeth works for only a little while; breathing in the accepted and the usual.
Where will you be?
iii. I have managed to come to my knees in a praying stance - I am not religious, nor will I be welcomed in to any heaven when I slip again. The blackouts start, preventing me from seeing the light. A plea comes to mind, but it will not go further than 'iwant'.
Fingers stretch, reaching for something.
iv. The suicide note is written out in the corners of thought, folded neatly and tucked into my back pockets. It is a place you will not find for a few days until the mortician contacts you [after painting on a face I never wore].
I imagine you will wash it off.
v. A change of scenery. There are arms, loud places, and forceful driving. Skidding. Almost tipping. Restraining straps. Gasps of air pressed against unwilling nostrils. Crying. Wailing.
I did this, didn't I?
vi. I am not in my field anymore, but there are mums and daisies that mimic the glory of fresh air. They feel real in my fingerprints, and I take a few with me when I bring my palm back down. White blanket is more beautiful when she allows color into her cheeks.
I realize these plants are not potted. They will die within a day.
vii. As will I.
I have each footstep memorized from a decade and a half of listening. This is the last chance, but the bile I choked back when I was in my hiding spot comes forth, preventing me from finding what to say. The words are back in the medicine bottle. Too much of a good thing.
Your hand is in mine when my grip slackens. This is a sick game of hide-and-seek; you found me. I knew you would.
~~~
Author notes
I don't know why I decided to write this. Maybe if things go wrong.
In a list
A contest entry
- want me to indulge you? okay, I will. by broken-colours.
1750 points, ended October 13, 149 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - all of these moments are lost in time. by catalyst..
1100 points, ended February 14, 16 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
of course that's how you're supposed to feel.
Comments
1 - 14 of 14
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Everytime I feel bad, this reminds me why I don't need this again. Six times is enough, and the thought of it after reading this - well, you described it so well, i feel it again. You're brilliant, Cassie.
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"I realize these plants are not potted. They will die within a day"
your very talented. I am normally not a fan of suicide poetry because it has a tendency to sound the same but this was very refreshing because it was different. Yes it was morbid, but death is morbid so why shouldn't we treat it like it is.
Your style is very southern gothic liturature like. I like it.
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Thank you! I never really knew I had one specific 'style' but I suppose that describes it. Very cool.
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Aiya. You are talented.
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This makes me sad. I read what Jennifer had said and all that below..
And like she said, if you're having problems, you don't have to go through it alone. It's not like I or anyone will get mad about how you feel. I'd rather know than not know, you know?
Bestest friends forevah.
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cassie. seriously, if you need to talk to someone, im here. you can tell me anything. I really had no idea how depressed youve been lately, since its been a while since ive talked to you. Have you at least been talking to someone? I mean like ashley or alan or anyone??? seriously, if you need someone to talk to, find me. im here. ive been there and i can help. or at least try. just know all of your friends love you a lot and it would kill us if we knew that you were this depressed and none of us have known it.
love ya.
Jennifer -
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I've been depressed yeah, but now I think I'm getting better. I suppose I wrote this to ward myself away from doing it. Imagine what they'd think when I died.
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dont talk like that. I dont know who "they" is but I can tell you straight out. Ive been there. You know I have. I only ever told you and one other person that I had ever thought things like this and I can definately tell you that it isnt worth it.
and if that isnt helpful, just think of how it'd kill every one of us. We all care so much about you and it scares the hell out of me to see you like this. -
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I don't know who they is. But they exist.
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okay i guess that makes sense. Just try to see the good in your life... youve got a great bf, you've got friends who truly love you...
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Thank you.
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Over the years I have talked to enough people who tried to kill themselves . . . this one rings true. I certainly hope that you are not thinking of killing yourself. If you are, I would suggest you at least wait a few years and see how things go. Suicide totally reduces your options, whereas alive, you have a chance of making things better. It remains an option later, if you feel you need it.
If you are not suicidal, then you have a remarkable ability to empathize with others . . . you perfectly put yourself into that place where they go when they are about to check out. That is a skill, a talent, a weight you will have to bear, that comes along only rarely. To feel what other people feel, even just a little, is a wonderful, fearful gift that you must use with care. It is something that makes you different from most people and may, at times, be hard to accept.
You wrote this because other people may need to read it. It is excellent. There is to your words a depth that most of us only dream of and then spend our lives trying to emulate. You are truly talented. (I know talent when I see it.)
Garrison
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I was suicidal, not sure if I still am or not, but whatever the matter I'm a little better. I have my moments. So I know sort of what it feels like.
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