Your life ran down
The shower stall drain.
The blood that was left
Was congealed in a blanket
You wrapped yourself with.
You left no note
Only blood, bone,
And brain tissue,
Splattered on the walls
And ceiling. These bore
Mute witness to the
Life you took.
Why, Raina? Why?
You were beautiful,
Talented poet, a mother
And wife. But the horrible
Unspeakableness of
Your childhood and the bipolar
Disease that afflicted
You became too painful
For you.
You called me the night before.
You told me you were
Going to take your life.
I didn't want to believe you.
Oh God! Had I believed!
A friend and I volunteered
To clean the scene. The carnage
That a.38 can do to
A head is beyond evil.
May God forgive me.
I can't forgive myself.
June 2005
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem