Pretending to be Bukowski: A Poem Collection

Dear Brother

Author's Note: This poem could be triggering due to heavy mentions of suicide, self harm, and violence. Do not read if you will be triggered. Stay safe. Dedicated to T.

You never met me, and now you never will.

A connection we never had the chance to form,

Cast out by a boy with intent to kill.

A whole life before you, but you guessed ahead.

26 years old, troubled soul, majoring in Psychology,

Your clouds were dark, so you wanted to be dead.

So much potential lost, leaving others to pick up the pieces,

Not even realizing what would soon be lost,

You didn't consider the living as you gave into your caprices.

You left behind your family, unaware of what came after.

Sobbing, grief, regret, loomed over their heads.

Only sorrow followed, not laughter.

And what am I supposed to do?

I'm just the half sister you never knew existed,

Someone who wants to mourn you, but doesn't know how to.

I can't be sad or say that I miss you,

When the only time I saw your face was in your obituary.

Genetics aren't enough to claim I even had a clue.

So tell me, brother, how did you go?

Was it painful, quiet, or peaceful?

You've left me desperate to know.

Was it a bullet to the brain,

A rope tied tight around your neck,

Or maybe a razor blade with deep cuts that finally ended the pain?

Maybe you opened the cabinet and popped every pill you found,

Or perhaps you forgot to hold your breath underwater

And you stayed there until you drowned.

26 years old, died in his home for an "unknown" reason,

A mother and father now mourn the loss of their son

But I suppose winter is the season

The season where hope is lost,

Where depression leaves a chill in the air,

And when anxiety creates a thick frost.

If life had gone in the opposite direction,

Tell me, brother, could I have made a difference?

Could I have mended you with affection?

Would the love of another sister be enough

To protect you from the demons inside you,

And tell you that you were just a diamond in the rough?

You were not any mistakes that you made,

Not your troubles, and not your brain chemistry.

You were just a boy facing internal tirade.

The world failed you, and you didn't deserve this,

You poor boy, just caught up in pain and being free from it,

Leaving me with questions and another person to miss.

So goodbye, brother dear,

I hope that you feel better now,

And that you are no longer overcome with fear.

Perhaps we'll meet in the future some time,

If I make it to wherever you are,

And then I can raise hell with a new partner in crime.

Sleep well there in your grave,

You can be at peace now, the weight is gone,

And know that while you were here, you were very brave.