What is One to Do?

Location

What is one to do
When all you can envision
Is an impending visit from
The cops, inquiring about the
Latest teen statistics?

The nightmare is the
Same every time;
A few brief knocks,
Followed by the shuffling
Of stony authorities inside

With an accusatory glare,
I’m told the fates of those
I’ve been tasked to care for
And have ultimately failed,
Proven by his preface:

“We found this letter
Stained red with regret.
It has been addressed
To you, and only you,
Beware its contents.

We’re sorry to inform you
We found one hanging, blue
in the face from feeling
Blue for so long without
any air to breathe.

We’re sorry to inform you
We found one lying in
Their own bile, the dosage
Was too high and tolerance
Was never high enough.

We’re sorry to inform you
We found one drowning,
In pools of their own blood
The incisions said more
Than her words ever did.”

My brain finds it impossible
To digest the horror that’s
Been thrown at me, to
Process my negligence
And ultimate betrayal

The letter I hold in my
hand holds the final
Testaments from those
Who in their final moments
Expected me to be there

The finale to this tragedy
Of which I tried so hard
To make a comedy is
Shaking in my grips,
An ending without notice.

I finally draw the strength
To look down at my death
Sentence, And begin to read
The very first sentence that
Hurts more than anything else:

“Dear Peyton, you
Are not to blame. There was
Nothing to do for me, I
Was a lost soul anyway.Thanks
For trying to find me, I guess.”

But how could this even
Be remotely true? It’s
Got to be against some rule
That there’s nothing to be
Done, it doesn’t work like that

But I guess mental illness
Doesn’t really consider
About what is or isn’t the norm,
When one moment there’s
Laughter and then deathly silence

What is one to do
When your friends are so
Far down the well that
Lassie just can’t save the
Day like she’s used to?

When starry nights and
Bleary days have passed by,
Spent drilling into their
Heads that they ARE
Pretty, they ARE loved

When years have dragged
On, and from the first day
You’ve completely run dry
of new things to say, but
the onslaught continues

When EVERY DAY someone
Makes sure to remind you
That they don’t want to exist,
They still suffer through it all
As a favor to you.

What is one to do
When every plea to put
Down the knife, untie
The knot becomes incessant
And genuine peer pressure?

When every syllable that
Leaves your lips is thrown
Out the window with every
Precise pinprick of a blade
On the inside of her thigh?

When hours on the phone
Wrapping your words around
The receiver like a pair of
Warm arms go unfelt
Through the unabashed sobs?

When the moment she
Walks out of your house and
Is out of your sight, the smile
Will fade and she’ll continue to
Die on the inside without witness?

What am I to do
When any day now, I expect
A notarized resignation letter
Officially withdrawing from the
Resistance of Suicide campaign?

You know, if you repeat something
Enough, it loses all its meaning
At least, that’s what I was told
When I reiterated my mantra of
“I love you, I’m here for you.”

And yet some words, no
Matter how much they are said,
Still leave their scars behind
Still invoke the same prayers
Still hold the same meaning

They mean that you can’t
Keep a body afloat if it
Isn’t breathing, that
Sometimes CPR can’t
Keep a heart beating

What am I to do
When even I’ve started
to crack, but can’t piece
The broken fragments
Back together with glue?

What am I to do
When there’s no one
Left to try and stop me,
Even if no words can
Reach us that far deep?

Maybe no one listened
Because I am a bit of a
nasty hypocrite.
Though I fear the letter,
I sometimes write letters of my own.

There are bruises ‘round this one’s
Neck, scratches on this one’s thighs,
And tears running down another’s face.
My lack of assistance roughly
Translates to enabling these behaviors.

Dead bodies are piling
Before the world’s eyes,
They claim their voices were
Silent, rather they were deaf to
The screams I hear every day.