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Victimized

Victimized

©2010, Olan L. Smith

(Submitted: Kenneth Wooden Birthday Contest, OriginalPoetry dot com)

Cold steel rests heavy in my hand—

Gleaming blackness of death's lure looming―

I spin its cylinder first left, then right and hear each tick―

Distinctive in its sound, as the drum whirls round―

My heart pounds in a moment's glooming

Drawing back the hammer, I pull its trigger— click.

Five more chances, perhaps— only one

Till I breathe my last and exhale―

'Tis mortality's liberation―

Your words positioned me at this precipice

Balancing on one foot, I teeter.

Calmness pervades my essence

Even now, I hear your dreadful words

And your laughter edges me closer―

Death's door doth not linger anymore―

I perceive its expanses plainly beckoning me

A voice whispers, "Come closer."

As we passed in life's hallways, you were always

Pointing, scorning me and vocally berating―

Others gathered and joined your taunting

I am corralled because I am dissimilar―

I am taller, shorter, smarter, Buddhist, or am gay―

It matters not to you for your hatefulness

Drives me here to this ledge― whence I cannot retreat.

Click—

Four more times, one I hope—

I pray this is the one that releases me from you.

I do not want to live. "Mother, forgive me—

I tried; I really did. I am an utter failure."

I press the barrel harder to my temple

Willing this moment will be my forever

And I will not have to endure this one second more.

Click―

Three more, perhaps only one

Father, I did not know you―

You left when I was four

But forgive me nonetheless.

I release my grasp. Am I losing my will?

I wonder if it will hurt.

What will my brother assume?

Forgive me, brother, for I love you

But you could not protect me, no one could—

Not you or my teachers, though I told you my awful pain.

I do not remember the moment or feeling a bullet enter my brain

It did hurt; I remember that. Then an angel came and pulled me back.

I recalled looking down to where my head lay shattered, pouring blood in a steamy mist.

"Where am I going?" I plead. "My dear child― we are going home."