(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.
wide and glowing green
inside something snarled
it’s voice a blend of
grinding teeth and the cracking
its mouth opening
rows of fangs
the blood of man or woman
gurgling liquid crimson
sore and swollen
he is easy target
hard to miss this weak thing
walking on rusty train tracks
writing the end too soon
i know how this ends –
i just forgot how it started.
lost in skin
which scar is mine?
which smile is mine?
the texture of pain
all rough, and bumpy
i have seen the footage and you have too.
evidence of decay scratched into skin
the backward rolling eye – visionless.
ready to be dissected by scalpels and knives.
ripples of light burn as
blackness traps my eyes
starting to outgrow my own breath
pounding at back doors
and opening mailboxes
It started like
I startled your eyes
with my scarred up skin
the fresh red of my only escape
my sad girl smile
Press play and i am in the hospital
laid out like a corpse
in a blue and white hospital gown
body fighting to live
The IV pumping life back into me
the stiff hospital bed
padded with thin sheeks and
I force myself up
touch my feet to the cold floor
unplug the infusion pump
grip my fingers tight around it
keep myself vertical but
my limbs give up on me
and a man in all blue
takes my arm before I fall
to the ground, guides me
forward to the washroom
And the smell itself makes my stomach
Fold onto itself
My eyelids fluttering
open and close.
doctor after doctor after doctor
examine the attempt
The curtains are drawn
I peek out hearing
The diagnoses instead of
The sound of squeaking nurses
running and searching
for another drunken scream
Give me a reason. to stay alive another day
to break free of this
all of this hell
The words are
caught in my throat
I choke on them
Spiders crawling inside skin
injecting venom into my bloodstream
I wrote it down but it doesn’t mean
anything because they want me to
They fear for my safety
not knowing what freedom feels like
but then again
neither do i.
48 Hours later.
I hand you the poem
Written on the back of a napkin.
I talk, ripping the spider
webs out of my mouth
thats what everyone is saying
thats what the girl says
a gaping giggle flies out her mouth
as her eyes brighten with each singular laugh
hands covering her bright pink cheeks
the cigarette that dangles out
her mouth and catches flame
all of tonight is dancing in the club
spotlights glaring too bright for intoxicated eyes
some creepy guy with yellow teeth thinks hes all
that with his silver chains and his spinning top feet
the broken spine of life
words plummeting down coffee stained pages
mean in the meaning that connects us into story.
the mistress of another universe
cloathed in ashes
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.