I was young dumb and in love,
After having served six months in jail
I thought every thing was as it was before.
Of course it wasn't,
She was with someone else.
I picked a spot the farthest away
From a hospital.
I purposely took a bottle of psychotropic
Medication,
The next thing I knew I was in the E.R.
Looking down at myself as I saw and heard
What was going on around me.
I came out of the coma two weeks later unable
To move on my own of course my hands were tied down.
The ventilator was making me breath at a rate
Unlike my rate of breathing not my own.
I was in extremely good shape and very strong,
Before my release I was forced to see a panel of
Three psychiatric doctors.
I was asked if I still felt suicidal to which
I replied.
That if I ever as such then I was that I would
Use a gun next time
That was thirty eight year's ago and without
A ventilator I would have died again twice having
Been D.O.A. when I arrived.
Having been brought back from death was an extremely
Personal experience,
And for a great many year's after that when I
Thought about that I would cry.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem