My suicide note

Internally bleeding, I’ve danced with death

Some days go by and I flirt with you

I ponder how should and could I end it all

I have visions of the greats like Sylvia Plath

Anne Sexton, Sara Teasdale, Vladamir Mayakovsky,

John Berryman, Hart Crane, Paul Celan, There is dark beauty in the pain; Ingrid Jonker, Danielle Collobert; how do you kill a dead person;

Torquato Neto, and the dead still speak words left behind.

They have silenced their voices, but their words remain alive

Visions of the body in a state of sleep after over dosing on

Pills, house cleaned, music playing, everything in order

As fantasies of death swirl and dance in my mind.

Francisco Lopez Merino names of men and woman who danced with words and their own death

As I do when I am alone,

My suicide note

Farewell my friends I’m already dead

Death by the hands from my abusers

Death by the hands from my mother

Death in hands from my father

Death by the hands of my rapist

Death by the hands of my pedophile

Death by the hands of society

There are many ways to allow the soul

Spiral out of this shell

And the idea sounds delicious

It’s for me a waste of time

For death has been my friend

My comforter

My liberator

The Author of the many words I speak and write as I attempt to live a full blown life.

Downward I go into the dungeon of despair

Depression is like the death of a cobras bite

And yet I fight every day to keep hope alive

I don’t suspect I will lose this battle

No, I have too much to feel inside

Better to say it while I’m still alive

Yet, I can say, I’ve flirted with death

The only escape from the mind locked in solitary confinement.

I am trapped by the visions of you, words, deeds, pain,

Solitude and a sense of ongoing brokenness which never appears to go away.

I want to blame myself for everything, and yet what power does a child hold over the sickness and death of adults.

These are the lessons taught to me and now I am just

Too tired, older, hard on myself, grieving and knowing some things are inevitable like birth and death.

I have collapsed within myself, and most days are life living like a runaway.

And yet I choose to remain and stay.

My death, it will come with time, why allow my own hands to destroy what God has created.

And then I will truly be free from this, at times, the festering life I’ve lived with maniacal sickness of my home life.

I am sad more than I am content

I am broken more than I am whole

I am, at times, at the brink of desperation and still I’m here

What keeps me from committing the inevitable and glorious release from this clay shell?

I wish I was alive, how do you kill the living dead.

My suicide note to myself will be just a reminder of how precious life can be

Sometimes gratitude, sometimes non-believing

Sometimes ungrateful, selfish, scared

I am tired of being strong

I want to be weak, and feel the freedom of just letting it all go.

I speak to the demons inside my head

They listen and offer respite.

I don’t intend to go without a fight

This suicide note to the self is not real

Just a moment of letting go of what I truly feel.

 

(NOTE- it was a feeling, I am not out to kill myself thank you Lucian A. Sperta)