(Trigger warning: Suicide & Self Harming Behaviours)
i woke up. after taking 6 sleeping pills the night before. before i knew what happened.
I couldn’t go to sophie’s funeral. i couldn’t say goodbye the way i wanted to. I didn’t want to say goodbye at all. she lived in london. i live in canada. It’s almost been a year. it’s almost been a year since i woke up without my best friend. millions of “R.I.P’s” flooded her facebook page. i still try to message her. still want a response. and then i remember.
What just happened.
I don’t believe it
i don’t believe it
i am paralyzed.
now, sophie and suicide are the main things that spin around in my mind. they are connected. I try to get away. numb it. i walk for hours. i smoke cigarettes. i try to silence the screaming of my mind by opening skin. try to see her again. try to be with her. i count out reasons to go with each pill spilled out in my shaky, sweaty hand. I don’t eat. I eat too much and make up for it. I yell. I feel my skin boil in a hot shower.
today is day 306. Some days, i can’t cry. Some days, i am a broken, leaky faucet and the tears will not stop. Some moments, i am okay. when the sun begins to shine through clouds. and the sky opens up. when the sun sets. After it rains.
It doesn’t last. It never does.
i try to picture you at peace, without pain. finally free of your demons.
i try to forget all the pain you left behind.
door slammed shut
keep out sign hanging on the door knob
panic lives in her chest
winding the jack in the box
anxiety jumps with its
white clown face – screaming
pounding and pounding
stealing another 24 hours
messy bed and unwashed sheets
twisting and turning around daytime
hair falling out
the rotting of woman
her knuckles start to yellow
and her heart hardens
sagging bags under eyes
droop like grandma’s skin
the dark creases of loneliness
stiffening the body
wide awake with the night
holding hands with one another
skipping over cracks in the sidewalk
nails painted black
chipped and scratched
her toes get caught in the traps
left out for squirming mice
the tight pinch of reality is just a slap across the face
the handprint screaming red over her right cheek
It’s a better story if i talk about
Finding flowers in open wounds
If i say it’s alright
If i tell you that i’m better now
That i can see the different
shades of morning again
Like i used to
Or if i talk about the spinning head demons
Running circles but there isnt really anything
Poetic about this pain
I cant make this a pretty ending.
The flames begin as bright rage
a train wreck of rushing water
through broken windpipes and
out of tune voice boxes/
an endless series of darts thrown
a fistful of promises and crushed violets
an exposed wire
knotting my arms into concrete
force of bitter beginnings
but you know what they say
a fire cant burn forever