Burn Me And Throw A Party - Poem by Brett Rogers
It has been a long while since I last cried,
Like really wept …
Maybe eight years (and I am edging ever closer to 30) …
[My Grandma (the nice one, my hero) had just died.
I bit my lip with young-man pride as her funeral rolled on and on …
And when it came time to navigate through the cornfield-framed roads,
From visitation to after-gathering,
I led my car abruptly to the shoulder and lost all control …
(She lies, a little red flower, at the base of a rainy-day willow,
Forever on my left arm) ].
I can feel it these days inside
Pressing against my outer shell,
A popcorn kernel in minute two of the microwave circle dance.
I have even recently dreamt of uncontrolled tears
(I sobbed myself awake, those many late nights ago,
As she slipped away, unknown yet to me, so many miles apart) …
And in spite, in my waking life,
I have built such a perfect dam.
I do the so predictable
And toast a 6-pack of the cheap-shit in under two hours,
Hoping to shed my shield
Let this all go:
The endless monotony of these days,
These nightmare days,
This lonesome life …
* * *
I am dying.
Straight up, and to the point.
It is slow,
I grant you.
It is a long, long, long time in creation,
And this recent acceleration is luminous …
I have had this voice inside encouraging me to kill myself for the last 18 of my 29 years.
I am exhausted from
Reasoning with it,
Hiding from it,
Getting it drunk or high or fucked,
Stuffing it with French fries and chocolate.
I’m exhausted from this “how are you? ” “I’m fine” waltz …
All the same demons remain,
In 5th grade I was gonna stick a BB gun up my nose and pull the trigger
In hopes of success.
It drew quite a bit of curious attention.
I didn’t go through with it, thankfully …
I don’t think it would have worked,
And I am not one for attempts …
… Soon though,
I will go to the grown-up gun store,
And buy something cheap and hand-held (but distinctly effective) .
I imagine it like the moment when the Doc says,
“There is just nothing more that we can do.” …
(“No thank you, I don’t need any help.
I think maybe you are placing too much value on living.”)
And I will smile smiles of relief
(For a little while) ,
And go to my favorite bars,
And travel to the few places I was assured I had to see,
And tell the few I love that I love them,
Though most no longer love me
(And all my ex-lovers will gather in a corner and say, “I’m amazed he made it this long”) …
I will find a grassy patch somewhere quiet
Where I won’t make too much of a mess …
And the simple note in my pocket will say, “Give my stuff to charity.” …
And then it will be …
(I will smile, easily,
Before the gun and I let go.)
* * *
I wish not to suffer.
I do not want to be kept alive by machinations.
Take my organs, please!
Though I think you’ll find
They are just so
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