Death Through Poetry

Unlocking the door and there you see a figure not meant for your

innocent eyes,

                   drowned in blood disguised,

arms cut so deeply by scars.

     I'm sorry that this is the way you were greeted with goodbye;

                 pale broken lips and stone-cold eyes.

I'm sorry that when you lifted up that lifeless hand braided in scars,

                you saw the bracelet only bought six weeks before. Birthday gift.

That painted silver-red token of your love now only paraded in the deep, dark grief on the arm you once touched,

warm

Unsevered

Unburned

Unhurt.

I'm sorry that if it had been another way it would have been body parts,

                    scattered,

                         concrete ground. Head half-bashed in and hardly recognisable.

Or body lying on a bed, not half asleep,

                     resting.

Pile of sick near the mouth you once kissed.

While the pills do their bidding. Unleashing poison into veins.

Sure enough to grasp her before you reach the hospital.

I'm sorry that I reached for the knife rather than the phone to call you,

              and when matchsticks burned I rather consider their flame than your words.

I'm sorry that in life

I was no more living than in death.

That I chose to shake hands with darkness rather than enveloping in your hug.

And in my distress chose to remain silent.

Giving you no more than a whisper when you asked how I was,

           or shook my head,

           glanced away,

           and disappeared.

No knowledge of the demons lurking in my breath.

And how I breathed sharply in sleep,

face salty,

wet,

from shards of my despair crying

'I cannot take this anymore'

and never letting you hear.

I'm sorry that girl you'd grown to love

died long before

her longest friend.

              Left someone cast in shadows; ghosts, monsters

                               under the bed she never left.

And that my alibi:

I'm tired,

I'm sick,

I'm busy

was all you knew.

Sorry through your word, sorry through your lies to try and aid me

'You'll be alright."

I had only come to know:

          emptiness.

                          Sorrow.

                                       Pain.

Forgetting you could feel it too.

But I felt it in suffocation, drowning, burning.

Inches too deep,

thick, lungs,

heartache, pain.

Panic-

Restrain. Break. Restrain. Break

Panic again.

Sorry I could not save me.

Sorry that you tried.

Sorry you will never know exactly

when I died.

But I am not sorry

That I am living now.