The Suicide Quartet

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,

in another situation.

.

Where I walked

a different path,

bled different wounds,

did not have the love

.

to catch me, when I fell.

.

Maybe that was me.

I am a ghost,

not really here.

.

I am a figment

of your imagination.

.

Dancing ember of a flame,

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.

A larger dragon

hatched from the broken carcass.

.

Never again.

I said, as I lied

to myself.

.

That could have been me

as I spent three days

searching for help.

.

That could have been me,

I said.

as I begged her,

as I begged god,

.

to listen to my instructions.

.

As I drove music blaring,

to the emergency room,

three hours away.

.

That 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

I am here,

she is there.

.

I feel partly dead.

I feel partly, like

there is no going back.

.

The dance I danced,

the dance of suicide,

continues

until it ends us.

.

Or we end the dance.

OHTWL (On How to Write Love)

I watch you there, dressed

entirely in amorphous scrubs,

laying unstill on a mattress

in an empty room

of naked walls.

.

In a barren space,

where no one

wants to be or be seen.

.

The love of my life,

struggled with the meaning

of her recent discoveries.

.

Her wounds bled

while my heart, dying

in her bare hands

.

as she talked

of riddles about her favorite,

her lost love and dad.

.

She asked

about an enchanted space

called the highlands.

.

A magical spot

in a story book place

of her youth where she

was young, still.

.

The chemistry

of such thoughts

created a distilled

intoxication for her.

.

One which helped

the dreams die

.

more softly like.

--

Our daughter watched

the butterflies as the soccer ball

.

rolled softly by her person.

While the other children ran on.

.

Our beautiful daughter, she

knew all the secrets

to all the things

.

other kids took for granted,

she had them figured already.

.

She loved that her dad

showed up,

even though she knew

her parents

fought every day,

.

that it took

everything for him

to be there.

.

But mom,

she loved mom

so much.

.

She worshiped her,

wanted to be like her,

.

knew her mom

would be there always,

she thought.

.

She knew

she was somehow older

than mom.

.

She did not

know why,

but she knew.

-

My lost love

had written

secret codes

on her arms,

.

inspired of gem stones

rocks which told the truth

of her superior mind and intellect.

.

She asked me what the secret riddles

meant, while she spoke of

.

her favorite

and me

and dad.

.

I told her,

you wrote it, my love.

You did so as we talked

of enchanted things,

.

I held you

while we fought

through nightmares

.

you had not felt

in many years.

.

The secret of the words,

speak one thing,

.

these words.

All they say is love.

.

over and over.

on repetition, until our universe

burns out,

.

as fiercely as did our fire.

Aftermath

I don’t regret it.

Not one minute of it.

.

I see those days

and live them

like they were yesterday.

.

PTSD they call it,

I call it stigmata.

The cost of doing

the right thing,

.

when the right thing

will cost you everything.

Have you ever given

.

your blood,

sweat,

grime,

grit,

.

soul,

sanity,

.

innocence,

fortune,

.

passion,

pain,

past,

present,

.

future

to a cause that would pay

nothing

.

but sorrow

if you were successful

but you did it anyway

because you knew,

.

It was the only decision

you would ever make

that mattered

as much as the decision,

.

You were making at that moment?

I don’t regret any of it.

Not one tear.

Not one bloody tear.

Not one.

.

Not one tear, or

accusation fired

in the name of ignorance,

.

directed at the easiest

most vulnerable

target they could get served

on their plate of hypocrisy.

.

The flying ones

the monkeys all 12 of them

feasting on their bloody dinner.

.

I shouldn’t have been there

they said.

.

I shouldn’t have been the one

they said.

.

It wasn’t right they said.

It was a crime they said.

.

She is alive

I said.

OHTWL II

I was lying on the floor.

The floor was laminate.

The room smelled

of hospital.

.

You reached for me.

I looked into your eyes,

as you spoke of broken things,

.

I still loved you.

.

As you whispered secrets

about your favorite,

your father, and the father

of your child,

.

I still loved you.

.

As you wrote those words,

the words on your arms,

chapters of philosophy

etched in magic script,

.

speaking in a secret tongue,

only we knew the key

to decipher,

.

I still loved you.

.

A hidden part of me

will always lie

on every floor

.

In every room

I ever walk into

.

looking for the love

that left us

.

that night.