Poems

Suicide

He took his life with a dull kitchen knife.

Puddles of blood covered his carpet floor.

His parents cried for their son was no more.

The reason no one could grasp.

He must’ve never removed his mask.

Pictures along the wall filled with his smiles.

Family members came to them from many miles.

At his funeral, they dressed in black.

His mother prayed through sobs to bring her son back.

Knowing he was really gone his father stood at the alter and gave a speech.

On heavens gates, they hoped their words reached.

Burring him six feet beneath the ground family and friends gathered around.

Months later, in his room his sister could be found.

At school, she got sympathetic looks.

At home, she buried her tear stained face in his books.

She couldn’t stand that no one could see, how troubled was he.

Searching for clues, even though it was too late for the good they could do.

In a box in his broken vent, she found letters never sent.

Addressed to everyone.

She read them at night in his bed with his lamp light.

Her eyeliner ran as she read the name upon the letter in her hand.

She gasped for air from her face she moved her hair.

Her name so neatly written, opening the letter with fingernails badly bitten.

She read the words he never said as memories of his laughter filled her head.

There was so much he went through.

That not a soul knew.

She understood she did all she could.

But sometimes your best isn’t good enough for someone who always been nothing but tough.

Eventually things went back to as normal as they could be.

But without him the house seemed empty.

Her parents packed away his things and his pictures gathered dust.

But kids were now mean to her on the bus.

Get over it he’s dead was one thing they said.

But no one knew she no longer slept in her own bed.

She found comfort in his scent but he left her heart with so many dents..

Lucky was his puppy and without him its eyes no longer shined and its once playful nature seemed to dim.

His sister took him in.

In his room, to his music they would listen.

In time, his memory became blurry.

She would reread his letters with worry.

In his writing was his story and how he was sorry.

And echoes of his voice would ring through her ears.

Finding him within her when looking in mirrors.

No one said his name in fear of bringing back the pain.

For some life seemed to move on but for her it seemed wrong.

Why forget? In fact, it seemed a threat.

She held on as hard as she could.
Like if it had happened to her she hoped others would.

Looking out the window flash backs of them building snow men in the snow and in the yard games they use to play.

On holidays happiness seemed so far away.

Her parents argued and fought, sometimes blaming themselves or the other for the child they put in the ground to rot.

She drowned it out, it was everyone’s obliviousness no doubt.

In a journal, she kept beneath his pillow, she writes to her brother she seemed to barely know.

Lucky sat at her feet. He seemed to be the only company she’d keep.

Over years small details of his memory from her head would slip.

She no longer cried at night or read his letters with his light.

She no longer listened to his music on repeat and to her friends, about him she’d never speak.

The journal had been filled and kept in a dresser drawer clothes seemed to over spill.

The carpet with the stain no longer remained.

Pictures of him had been replaced, and locked in the garage in a safe.

His scent no longer flowed through his room and shed be moving out soon.

On the day of his 21st birthday she went to his grave with a few things to say.

With Lucky at her side she told him how things had been sense he died.

With her visits purpose paid by the headstone was a few things she laid.

Placed face up was a letter.
Neatly written was his name.

Within was everything she lost when with his life he paid the cost.

Every reason to live he had, and how losing him made everyone sad.

And with the time she had with him she was glad.

But she was now letting go and wanted to tell him so.

He would always be remembered but she has to move on.

In her house, a picture of her and him so young, in the center of the living room from a nail it hung.

As she lived her life and raised her kids, she took notice of the small things they hid.

No longer haunted, but taught from what she witnessed others did.

In time, she grew old and with a weak immune system she died from a severe cold.

Welcomed with a hug, warmed filled the air as her grave was dug.

Her children looking through her things, found a letter with her name on it.

They realized suicide is no game, but it relieved their pain.

How it must feel to be reunited with someone so loved.

They knew they were watching from above.