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Tag Archives: Suicide

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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End of the Line

A journey to London
A well-known route
Travelled daily by businessmen,
Lecturers, secretaries and the rest
Into the hub of enterprise and moneymaking.
The carriage packed,
No room to move,
Everyone going about their mornings
Their routines untroubled
Coffee, books and shallow chatter
The train halts, an unwelcome delay
Not unusual, it’s England after all.

No-one expects punctuality
They’re all partially expectant
Leaves on the track
Unable to continue
Derisive tuts, the train goers’ symphony
Contagiously flowing down the train,
Moaning about late arrival at work
Complaining about their ruined day

Leaves don’t crack
Alternative explanations bubble up into the collective mind,
A long delay,
That’s less common,
A tannoy announcement,
Vague, an evasive tone,
Raising more questions than it answers
Speculation begins to grow,
Twitter is set ablaze
Silence in the carriage
Noises in the airwaves
Alerting followers of their suspicion –
Yet another traintrack suicide.
Not tweets of sympathy for the victim nor the family,
Angry self-absorbed snippets,
Commuters made late by such a selfish act
Others worried about their own safety
In the aftermath of the elimination of the need for safety for another
They’re afraid of what might happen to them,
Thinking about their families,
How they’d feel were something to happen

What about those to whom something has already happened?
A fleeting thought spared for them?
A story to tell their friends, their colleagues,
To enhance their popularity,
To catch the interest of their contemporaries.
One person who made the ultimate decision
Has helped to improve the social lives of many.
Attention from someone who’d always been cold,
The beginning of a relationship,
a family,
children born,
A happy family
Born from terminal unhappiness
Selfishness during the event
Led to great joy,
Not for the inconvenience, but for the inconvenienced.

Seeing the fallout
Of an action
They were considering
Leads to the realisation
Of the devastation
That they could cause.
Saves them from dying,
through dying,
If they saved more than one,
If two children come about,
A net gain for humanity,
But a tragic loss for humanity.

The apathetic reaction,
Regardless of positive outcomes,
Damaging the faith in humans,
No empathy, no mourning,
A lack of knowledge about the victim
Manifesting in a lack of care
A sparsely attended funeral
A single addition to the cemetery
Many benefits to the world,
Too many costs to those who were close.

Who won?
Who lost?
Or did it just not matter at all?

 
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Posted by on March 18, 2014 in Poetry, The Suicide Series

 

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Voices

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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“Jump!”

A crowd of people going about their day
Nothing spectacular,
Nothing you wouldn’t expect.
Looking up, a figure comes into view
A mannequin? A joke? A social experiment?
It’s moving, must be alive, must be human.
A man or a woman, can’t tell from here.
A person with hopes, dreams, friends,
Parents who love them, doesn’t look like they know.
Suicide is the speculation, the presence of police is the confirmation.

More and more gather
It’s a spectacle, a show.
The faceless man,
has no identity,
why would we care?
No one knows him, they’ve no reason to care,
He’s just a body, assaulted by the wind
It pushes him, urging him to fall
The crowd is no different, urging him to fall

No,

They urge him to jump.

They want a climax, they crave action
A human life, driven to the edge of a building
A mind so harassed it doesn’t want to be,
The end is nigh
I couldn’t tell you why, but I should stop it,
I should help.
‘JUMP!’ I hear myself cry
swept along by the crowd, craving a front row seat at the show of a lifetime
you’ve made it this far, why not carry on?
My mouth spits the acidic words,
he can’t hear me, does that make it better?
My thoughts are distressing, I wish it was me up there.

People he’s never met want to see him splatter
Spread out on the cold hard ground
Faith in humanity
Neither restored nor destroyed,
No room for blame, a young man sick of life,
Wouldn’t have jumped if shown some compassion
From a stranger, a friend, one of the people on the ground,
A crowd of individuals,
Individuals that could help
Prefer to be anonymous in the bloodthirsty crowd
Than a singular helper, if they fail they are alone,
At fault
Not one of many
At fault

But the crowd didn’t help.
No one stirred.
They waited and they baited.
And they were shocked when he fell.
One could have been the cure,
His life was in their hands
Our hands
My hands.

The blink of an eye.
the end of a life.
a life I knew nothing about
but couldn’t wait to see end.

 
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Posted by on March 12, 2014 in Character, Poetry, The Suicide Series

 

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