Tag Archives: Death

The Fear

I’m so grateful for The Fear
The crippling, painful fright
Of all the unknowns
To dive into the abyss
Is a tempting pursuit
Chasing a dream
That’s running away
from my collection of old knowns

I stand upon the edge
Looking down, over, across.
Pushed by my fear
‘til I teeter on the brink
The fear’s allegiance changes
It comes around to face me
Full of courage
And shoves me into limbo
Pushed, pulled,
And hating The Fear

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Posted by on September 24, 2014 in Character, Poetry, The Suicide Series


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Choked by Silence

When she told me
My world began to crumble
Things fell from around
And I couldn’t take the news
Her strength’s got me through it
It shouldn’t be that way round
Testament to what an incredible person
I’m soon to lose

She’s determined to do it herself
To go through it alone
So she’s not disclosing it to anyone but me
Her parents know nothing
Her sister’s oblivious
Her best friends knows nothing
She doesn’t want to weigh them down

And it’s all on my back
And I can’t share it
She’s come to terms
I don’t understand quite how
But I’m here drowning in knowledge
And the lifeguard is gone

So my mime act continues
As prevalent at home as anywhere else
As I watch her fade away
With a smile on her face
Reaching out, but falling short

Sworn to secrecy
Unable to keep it up
So many words I can’t articulate
So many emotions
Fallen to the bottom
of the bottomless pit

In the darkness that’s descending
Cutting her off
As it leads her away
She reminds me of my vows to her
With the shimmer of a tear
The sweet smile
The glistening eyes
Choking me
Without a glance into mine

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Posted by on June 1, 2014 in Character, Poetry


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Farewell, O Brother.

I felt so…
So… numb.

Sitting on that pew
In the middle of the small wooden hell
While you lay in your own small wooden hell
Watching a priest, a stranger,
Try to rationalise
Regurgitated words,
harvested from a field of apathy,
O brother.

Your mother,
Your father,
Sat looking through you
No tears in their eyes
Already moving on,
An early fix
To a problem that ruined their lives

I saw him too,
The driver.
Tears in his eyes.
Guilt is all
He didn’t know you
He doesn’t care
He just knows it’s his turn soon,
The scum.

Drivel upon drivel
A good life?
11 years cannot be a good life!

I stood up to scream
To object
To do you justice
But my mouth fell dry
A punch on the nose of the guilty
Got me thrown out
Driven from my blood,
Covered in his
As the only saving grace is gifted to the soil
And the next best thing is stolen from me

Expletives were not befitting,
O brother
Violence not the answer,
So you would have claimed

now I’m here, O Brother,
as alone as you,
on a cold, hard bench,
staring at the barely settled ground
With only a rock as remembrance
Covered in someone else’s words

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Posted by on April 14, 2014 in Character, Poetry


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My Last Poem

This will be my final piece
My last poem,
It’s what I’ll leave behind,
It’s essentially
my note.

I still remember being young,
The teens, the twenties.
Drinking and partying
Not caring at all
Doing stupid things
I’ve no regrets about them

People tell teenagers to enjoy their teenage years
They say they’re the best years,
Maybe that pressure is why they don’t make the most of them,
Why they don’t live their lives.
I lived mine,
And I’ve made it to the end.

Not the end I wanted
Not the one I’d expected
I’ve not gone the way of the musical genius,
Way past 27,
A fizzle not a bang.
Drugs a plenty,
Not an overdose,
Only vital prescriptions.

And my last few years I’ve spent mostly in hospitals
Illness and age,
They’re a package deal.
I’d be ok with plenty of visitors
Too bad I beat my friends
Saw them put away,
Filed in the ground,
Burnt and scattered,
Sometimes taken to the lab,
that’s a noble way to go.

The wife left too,
Abandoned me here,
With the enthusiastic interns
And the jaded old doctors

Lying here and writing my thoughts
It’s how I filled my days,
Bringing colours to life through words
Using all the colours but black
That’ll catch up with me soon enough
Hooded and final,
Surrounded by light?
Soon I’ll know the truth,
A truth no living man can know.

Either filled with everlasting joy,
Everlasting suffering, or
Everlasting nothingness.

I’ve been told they’ve done all they can
I’m grateful to the doctors,
They’ve done themselves proud.
Should’ve spent more time and attention
Saving those whose fates are not already determined.

I’ve noticed while here,
It’s the young ones that go,
While the likes of me linger,
Using up resources time and medicines,
Contributing to the others’ deaths
All while defiantly waiting for our own.
We know it’s coming, we’ve come to terms,
Not that any one of us really knows what that means.

I’m as ready as I’ll ever be;
I don’t want to go.

Time spent with some of the doctors,
I got to know some quite well,
Shared stories,
Shared laughs,
It’s all you can do in the face of mortality
It meant a lot to me,
That faked interest.

Great actors, are doctors,
I was almost convinced,
At least I still have enough
to know the real truth.

Ah, here we go
I feel like I’m starting to fade
I’ve not ended this well
But I can’t think now




To the reader of this piece,
I just want you to know,
That those conversations were real,
Meant more than he knew,
He taught me how to cope,
I hate that he refused it,
And I hope that in his last minutes,
He decided that he’d helped,
Because his strength at the end,
Has become no less than legend.

You changed me sir,
Although you’d hate me calling you sir,
Far too informal for that,
You were always one for jokes,
I’m confident you are still.

Please hear this somehow,
I beg you do me that,
I just wanted to thank you,
Accomplished so much,
You escaped the pain,
You live on still,
Both here and there, I’m sure.

For eternity’s ahead of you,
And it will certainly be filled
with everlasting joy.

I hope.


Posted by on March 29, 2014 in Character, Poetry


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My New Bed

I’m not in my bed anymore
I miss my old one,
This new bed is too hard
It reminds me of goldilocks and the three bears,
Their beds weren’t very nice either
The covers are thin and it’s really drafty in here
I’m always cold

I’ve made some friends here though
The old man over there
Hes always nice to me
He gives me sweets when theyre not looking
It makes me happy
I don’t know why he’s here though
He doesn’t talk very much anymore
Yesterday the woman that sometimes comes and talks to him
had a talk with the people.
They started taking the tubes away from him today
I think hes going back home
I’m going to miss him
He’s so much like my granddad.

Then there’s the girl next to me,
She is nice but she never seems comfy
Always tells me its going to be ok
I don’t know what she means when she says that
But she gets happy when I smile back

More people around here should smile
I wish people weren’t so sad
Even mummy barely smiles now
Daddy does but not that time the doctor man took them outside
When they came back in everyone looked sad
The doctor man looked sad too
He showed me a picture of his dog once,
I hope it’s ok, my dog was my best friend.
He’s not allowed here, they said it was because of germs
They said he might make people poorly
I thought that was why they are here
Daddy said that’s why.
Nana was here before she moved away too,
Daddy said they made her really comfy
Apparently thats what im going to be too, I must be getting a new bed

Mummy said I was going to sleep soon
A long sleep like my hamster does at winter time
To see if my poorlyness goes away
She said canser is mean and scary
But I can win against it
She said in my dreams I will fight against it
Like one of the heros in my stories
Daddy said Im going to be a superhero too

I said goodnight to them then
But they said goodbye instead by mistake
Grown-ups are silly like that
I said bye bye to because I don’t want them to think they got it wrong
Mummys eyes were all watery
Daddy was cuddling mummy
And the doctor man was saying sorry
I dont know what he is sorry about
I’ll ask him in the morning


Posted by on March 16, 2014 in Character, Poetry


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Two personalities
That’s what people think
The truth is different, worse.
Not Jekyll and Hyde
Nor Gollum and Smeagol
Just disordered thoughts,
Hallucinations, delusions.
Voices telling them they’re worthless
More persuasive than the voices of the real people
Who are the real people anyway?
Conspiracy theories,
Murderous plots,
A higher purpose.
The gods talking, showing them their purpose
To die on Christmas.
To kill on Easter.

The diagnosis is unsure
The doctors are claiming health
Disagreeing with each other,
Depression? Anxiety?
Leave it ‘til later.

They’re leaving it for later,
There can’t be much wrong.
Christmas comes and goes, still living
Even if just in a cell.
The reality of sectioning.
Ill or criminal, there’s no difference.
The ill turn to crime,
Criminals fall ill, they’re human too.
Unlike the mental.
They’ve fallen short,
Rejected by society,
Too different to coexist.

Released after therapy,
Change the way they think,
Turn them into what people expect,
Lost identities?
Maybe that’s what they want,
Members of society, functioning,
As we’d all expect,
Fall short again,
Not taken in,
Easter rolls around,
The voices have returned
Stronger than ever
More convincing than the therapist
A more attractive prospect,
A calling not a concession
True to themselves
Them and the voices, conspiring
to fulfil a destiny,
People think there are two people,
But there’s only one body.

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Posted by on March 14, 2014 in Poetry


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A life not lived, a death not comprehended
Small and helpless, maybe conscious
Not understanding, not even knowing
Loved unconditionally, loved wholly,
A world wrapped in a blanket.
A world short lived, a world shattered
The creators weep
Blurs the vision of their nightmare, giving hope it’s just
a nightmare. A dream gone wrong.
No time to adjust,
Never enough time to accept.
A lifelong memory in pursuit of happiness
Determined to end it.

Lived and loved
Not enough
Society stands appalled
Asking itself how
Asking why
Not desiring answers
But coming up with reasons.
Blaming each other, blaming themselves,
Looking for prevention.
Parents cry. Children cry. Friends cry.
Now a harrowing statistic
Statistics mean nothing to the individual
Just young enough to die

Been around long enough
“A life cut short”
leaves grown children, no longer dependent
parents can’t be troubled, dead
or just not living.
Tragic yes,
Unexpected? No,
Everyone saw it, retirement shone a light
Upon that which has no light
The obituary is overflowing,
Achievements of a lifetime, condensed to a post-it, not even a footnote in history
Space in the paper
Not worth the money. That’s needed for food,
To keep the younger people alive.
They’re the useful ones.

A full life,
No one cries, it’s not a surprise
Outstayed their welcome, donated an empty bed.
Fought in a war,
As one of millions.
No medals, didn’t happen.
Short funeral,
“It was his time”
no more needed.
So much hassle,
Boring stories repeated over and over
Visits became chores
Glad to see the back of him
Friends in the ground,
Reunited at least

The same end,
A day, 25 years, 60 years, 80 years,
The same end.
All in the ground,
All equal,
All forgotten,
None will be alone for long.

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Posted by on March 11, 2014 in Poetry


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