Suicide Note - or, the Art of Forgetting

Depression was a dirty word

In the crowded halls of our prep school

Who had time for that when hands

Were creeping up skirts

In study hall?


You were sad, but you were getting better.

The medicine was making you better.

You said you were better.

Why did you lie?


When you left, the world trembled.

A hush fell over the building,

And once talkative, brash girls,

Did not know how to move forward.


When you left, the sky fell.

Conversations were hard,

But the silence was harder.

We went home to our mothers and cried.


When you left, a door opened.

The things we never talked about,

Save for hurried whispers in the halls,

Came straight to the forefront.


When you left, I missed you.

A detached counselor’s voice,

Ragged around the edges,

Like glass shoving its way into my heart.


Come back, my dear.

There’s still a place for you

At our cafeteria table

In the seventh grade.


I will never forget the pills

You clutched in your hand.

And the false promises of getting better.

Of joy that kills.


This poem is about: 
My community
Our world



This was for an English assignment in which we had to write something where the last four words were, 'of joy that kills' - the same four words that end Kate Chopin's The Story of an Hour.

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