Poems About the Shattered and Broken

The Night I was Supposed to Die

My last day on Earth was supposed to be November 20, 2014.

I had so many friends, yet I still felt so alone.

The night I was supposed to die, my depression was slowly seeping into my brain, contaminating all of my thoughts.

Every good thought turned bad.

The night I was supposed to die, I felt weak.

I could barely walk to the medicine cabinet.

The night I was supposed to die, my hands shook as I grabbed the knife handle.

The night I was supposed to die, I couldn't shed a single tear.

How ironic, I cried every other night, but on the night I was supposed to die I couldn't.

The night I was supposed to die, the blood didn't come out as fast as I had hoped it would.

It came, but didn't flow, drowning out my thoughts and me.

Better drowning by blood than my thoughts.

The night I was supposed to die, I could barely swallow all the pills.

The night I was supposed to die, I started to regret it all: the pain, the blood, the knife, the pills, the crying, everything. But it was too late.

The night I was supposed to die, I felt the darkness coming, and it was coming fast. Almost too fast.

Faster than the pills could take away my pain on a regular night. But this was not a regular night. It was the night I was supposed to die.

The night I was supposed to die, I crawled into the porcelain tub, as I felt the darkness slowly take over me.

The night I was supposed to die, I barely felt the sting of the blade as it clawed into my pale skin. Ripping it open as a child would rip open a present.

The night I was supposed to die, I barely felt the blood drip off my arms.

I barely felt the droplets splatter against my thighs.

The night I was supposed to die, I barely felt the pills as I choked them down without water.

The night I was supposed to die, I barely registered writing down my final thoughts and feelings to those who pretended to care.

The night I was supposed to die, I barely heard a person screaming out my name.

I barely heard him shout at me to get up out of the tub. But it's so comfortable and I'm too tired. Who are they to tell me how to die on the night I'm supposed to die?

The night I was supposed to die, I barely felt anything. I'm almost gone, I thought.

All I wanted to feel was death as it overtook me.

But on the night I was supposed to die, the darkness never came. I never made it. I never died.

The night I was supposed to die, I didn't feel the cool hard flooring of the tub below me, anymore. Instead I felt arms.

The night I was supposed to die, I couldn't even kill myself right.

The night I was supposed to die, he found the note.

The night I was supposed to die, he came to save me. And not the grim reaper coming to take me to hell. Anyplace better than this one.

The night I was supposed to die, he saved me. I don't know whether or not to be happy.

The night I was supposed to die, they had my stomach pumped.

The night I was supposed to die, they stitched up and bandaged my arms.

The night I was supposed to die, he finally cared enough to do something.

Although I'm glad, I guess, because on the night I was supposed to die...

I wasn't ready to go yet.

"The night I was supposed to die" is now just a memory.

Until next time...

Until the next "Night I'm supposed to Die."