Suicide

I thought about it.

.

I thought about a family friend

who jumped off an overpass

because no one had the patience

to accompany a manic depressive

to the local

Emergency

room.

.

I am a manic depressive

I said. That could have been me

I said. Maybe that was me

in another life, another situation.

.

Where I walked

a different path

and bled different wounds

and did not have the love

to catch me when I fell.

.

Maybe that was me.

And I am a ghost

and not really here.

.

I am a figment

of your imagination.

.

A dancing ember of a flame

that is about to go out

from a wind gust

at just the right time.

.

A storm to catch the flame

in just the right way.

.

I slayed someone else’s dragon

once. Another bigger dragon

hatched out of the rotten carcass.

.

Never again

I said as I lied to myself.

.

That could have been me

as I spent three days

trying to find her

help.

.

That could have been me

I said as I begged her,

and god,

to listen to my instructions

.

as I drove

to the emergency room

three hours away.

.

The one with the mental health

facilities.

.

Maybe we are

both ghosts. Dancing

.

flaming silhouettes

dead in this life

but not the next.

And not the last.

.

No that could not be

because I am here and she is there.

.

But I do feel partly dead.

I feel partly like

there is no going back.

.

The dance with suicide

is a dance we dance

until we end it or it ends us.