You think that everything would be
better without you, correct?
You’re utterly convinced that no
one needs you, right?
Right now, I want you to go to
your special hiding place and
get your knife, your blade,
your lighter; whatever tool
you’ve spent countless nights
battling, turning to for some
type of comfort. Now, I want you
to hold that tool. I want you to
feel the weight of it within
your palm. Feel the coldness
against your warm skin.
Now, picture this:
your mother, going to your room
to wake you up, only to find your
corpse on the ground, surrounded
by your own blood.
Can you hear it now?
The shrieks of terrors,
the uncontrollably sobbing.
Can you hear it now?
Then, your father comes running
to your room, finding your mother,
his wife, clutching your limp
body (his precious baby); screaming
to the heavens, desperately wishing
that she would just wake up from this nightmare.
He runs to her, pulling her away
from your body, shielding her
away from the horror. He bites his tongue,
holding back the sobs.
An hour later, they’ve collected
the body and your mother hasn’t
moved from the couch, blankly staring
into space; still waiting, hoping, praying
that she’ll wake up from this nightmare.
Your farther is in the other room,
sobbing silently; the same man
who you never once saw cry,
broken down.
Still believe your life means nothing?
Now picture your sibling, your sister, your brother,
getting called to the office; their teacher telling
them it’s an emergency. Your parents are there,
your mother is crying, your father is holding
her shaking body. Your sibling is confused, frightened.
They tell them the news, and the teacher
has to catch them before they fall
to the ground.
It was just last night you two
were bickering over what movie
to watch. It was just last night they
heard your laugh, saw your smile.
It was just last night.
When they tell your best friend,
they break down; you two were
supposed to see a movie that weekend.
You two were going to get pizza; now you’re gone,
and they’re left alone to fight their own demons.
It’s been one month.
Your door remains closed,
no one dares to go in there.
Your mother has shut down,
not knowing how to go on.
She cries herself to sleep every night.
Blaming herself for not telling you
how much she loves you.
Your father goes through the motions,
but some nights, he has a little too
much whiskey, hoping to numb the
pain that seems to have settled
on his chest.
Your sibling has gone silent,
turning to the knife to deal
with the pain that has taken
over them. Almost ever night,
they break down, punching
the ground, screaming your name
to the heavens.
Your best friend goes out every night,
drinking to forget the ache in their chest.
Just one more glass of vodka to forget,
even for a little while.
And where are you?
You’re six feet under the ground,
rotting away silently.
While everyone you loved,
who loved you, is continuing
their lives—but there’s a void
in their a hearts, a space where
you once lived in.
Did you know that you’re
the reason your best friend
didn’t kill them self?
Did you know that you were
your sibling’s best friend?
Your parents’ pride and joy?
The light of everyone’s lives.
No, because you were blinded
by your sadness; you let
the darkness win.
Don’t let the darkness win.
Put the tool down, you’re
needed elsewhere.
(DS)
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