I saw your bandages.
I didn’t inquire.
I didn’t need to.
I recognized your secret.
It looked like mine.
The door was ajar.
I peeked in your closet.
I saw your skeletons,
And I knew them all.
They looked like mine.
I remained reticent.
Not even you knew
What I observed.
I protected your secret
Like I did mine.
Now I wonder,
If I had unlocked
My Pandora’s Box for you,
Could I have rewritten your story
Like someone did mine?
This poem requires explanation. It was written over two decades ago. As a teen and young adult, I struggled with depression and thoughts of suicide. In my early works, I rarely wrote about anything but suicide or death. If I had not been able to express my internal conflict through poetry, I honestly don’t know if I would be here today. Eventually I sought treatment. Unfortunately the treatment was not conducive to creativity. It was one of several reasons that I did not write for over ten years. Still, I wouldn’t change anything. I am happy and healthy now. I found my voice again too.
However, it should not have taken me as long as it did to talk to someone. There is this unspoken taboo when it comes to suicide. I wanted to be remedied, but I didn’t want to ask anyone for help. I was humiliated that I couldn’t just pull myself together and be normal. I assumed my friends and family were too busy to bother with my strife or thought I was just looking for attention. If any of this resonates with you, please pay attention to this… There are millions of people out there that have the same stuggles. Sometimes all they need or want is someone who can relate to them. If you don’t trust anyone around you, call a hotline, see a professional, or find a group. THERE ARE OTHERS LIKE YOU. You will find support in their ranks. You are not alone. You are not a freak. You’re a little off the beaten path and that’s ok. Find a guide to lead you back. They are out there. Can’t find yours? I’m right here; talk to me. Believe it or not, people do care.
I think back often and wonder “What if?”. What if any of my attempts had been successful? What if my Mom found me and this poem? What if I had never found my way? I’m thankful I only have to wonder. I’m thankful for everyday of this life. I’m thankful that you’re reading this for the right reasons and my family never read it for the wrong ones.
My time has come,
I bid you goodbye.
I’m taking this chance
To explain to you why.
I am filled with hate.
Love? I have none.
No love for life,
No love for anyone.
I had long been dead
Before my heart stopped beating.
I lack emotion.
My life has no meaning.
There’s nothing you could do
So please don’t ask why.
My time has come,
I bid you goodbye.
In my mind where Satan doth tease,
His presence takes upon me its toll.
He offers my mind’s immortality
If I’ll only negotiate my soul.
Reign with him o’er the Valley of Death,
The Reaper extends to me his hand.
Seems a thrilling temptation, nay, exalted escape
From a life that I cannot stand.
Though nearer glance at digits so grizzly
Sets before me the revelation,
‘Tis naught to be gained by an unholy death
Upon succumbing to the ultimate sin.
This perfect image was created by the very versatile HisGeenky on DeviantArt.com.
She drew a deep breath, held out her hand,
In it a glowing diamond sparkled on an endless gold band.
Reluctantly he took it back, clenching it tight,
Searching for the words to set it all right.
Instead they turned – their eyes never met,
Quietly they let go of a love they’d not soon forget.
They put miles between them and distance in their hearts,
Now believing they’d spend an eternity apart.
Guilt loomed while he longed to make that call,
Grief struck as she stared at the phone upon the wall.
Yet he resisted, and the phone never rang,
The mournful silence nearly driving her insane.
Little did they know, their love was so pure.
It was true, it was deep, it was meant to endure.
The time was too long, the distance too great.
They were so hasty, too stubborn to wait.
Slowly and painfully the days passed him by.
Memories of her love were not going to die.
Nor could she cope, the loss agonized her:
The days and the nights became but a blur.
Then the day came, a decision in his life.
He had to have her. She would be his wife.
She too decided to fill that great hole,
She turned to another who’d offered to console.
A stranger embraced her from dusk until dawn,
Still she longed only for the one who had gone.
Meanwhile, he boarded his plane, flowers in hand.
Clutching that diamond on the endless gold band.
What happened next, it’s far beyond tragic.
Not every good ending is filled full of magic.
She raced home that morning, dialed the phone.
It rang and it rang, but he wasn’t at home.
For it was then that his plane crashed into the ocean,
And he died holding her ring with the greatest devotion.
A knock at the door woke her late the next night.
Instantly gripped with panic, her stomach grew tight.
Before they spoke, she already knew:
Revealing that ring was all they had to do.
She shook violently as they placed it into her hand.
Grief stricken, her heart numbed until she could no longer stand.
As she kneeled at his casket, despairingly she cried,
Placing upon her finger the ring for which he died.
At his tomb, a beautiful memorial she built.
Still she mourned, still riddled with guilt.
She could resist no longer what she needed to do.
Her heart was shattered as her soul was too.
At his grave site, her sacred vows she read,
Then she picked up her gun, placed it to her head.
She fired the shot that ended her life,
Dying to join him, now as his wife.
Their deaths together, like the diamond upon her hand,
Were forever and ever, like that endless gold band.
Carrie Mayhem 