Sunday, November 25, 2012

Suicide Series, Part IV

As I cut deeply
Through the pizza
The knife gets caught
On the crust
And I scream knowing
I’ve gone over the edge
And don’t know when
I’ll stop falling.

The death I felt my own was to you
But a hand on the knife. The thrust
Fulfilled in your own wordless passing.
I wondered when it would end
Then realized you already had.
I pray honesty will come more easily
To shocked lips.

My words don’t have time
To hang in mid air before
My eyes kick tears and mouth
Gasps for the air, clenching
The counter’s edge in death grip,
For relief from the pain—
Like a bang through the head—
The overdosing, numb sensation
Of losing you.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Suicide Series, Part III

Once I took a walk, I cried all the way,
In fits and spurts to the telephone pole—
I leaned—where I overheard the caprice of my sorrow
That has built to magnitudes thought improbable,
A storm, wherein the wind I chased
The memory of you, seeking out
What has gone by and finding
I can’t remember all I once knew
About you and the time we shared.

Mountains beyond mountains
From which a crimson sky did bleed
Below heaven’s shadowy fingers.
I wished the lights had not cut,
When above, a calm blue pediment,
A waxing crescent moon.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Suicide Series, Part II

I saw I missed your message
While I was distractedly chatting,
Toasting drinks, enjoying treats.
I’m holding my breath
Hoping yours has not yet gone.

As the bathroom sink holds me,
I search in the mirror to know
I am here where you are not,
Though I don’t yet know why
And no longer know my face
By the sorrow you’ve given.

You tired to tell me you were falling
By saying hello,
But I had society to attend.
I thought our plan to climb
The mountain would be enough
To keep you on the trail,
Even as the sword was hanging over head
Until you were under the rope.

Your blood has come to my eyes,
Too all our eyes, and thus we
Know you have come to be in us,
Especially tonight, my birthday.
The balloons have popped.

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Suicide Series, Part I

Scratch your eyes out
To feel alive when the hand knows not its way,
When the shadows of friends keep skipping away
Leaving the tunnel half made,
You will know there’s no getting out
Of this cave without pain.

You will search in vain, following
Freshest air, the inkling of a spark,
The whispers of your prayers,
Only to find fouler darkness
As you fulfill a prophecy you never knew
Opening your irises to find
What tenderness blocks the view
Letting swell bloody tears.