Clyde King
San Antonio, Texas
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The Suicide

Harry bought me a.38 revolver.
I got afraid of being home alone while
he was on the road truck driving.
Getting me a gun was a premonition.

You see, I suffered from manic/depression,
or type one bipolar mental illness, since
I was a teenager. When I was manic I could
do anything. I could fly up to the sky, see the world
so clearly, grasp the secrets to life, be as one
with the universe. Christ! I knew everything!

But when the depression hits me
after the mania, all I want to do
is die to stop this pain.

Anyways, I'm bipolar ‘cause as a kid
I was raped by my uncle and a stepbrother
and my mom and dad didn't stop it.
Now that same uncle is going to rape
me again while Harry is away!

Harry is a simple bastard.
All he knows are trucks and driving
them. He doesn't know me though.
Thank God, Harry's home now!

You see, I've tried to kill myself
twice with pills. Harry knew this,
so why did he put a gun in my hand?
Got it now, do you?

Back to the gun. Harry buys me
a deadly weapon to protect myself
with, right? What do you think he
wanted me to do with it?

So, I gave him what he wanted.
I got the.38 and my favorite
blanket and went into the shower,
sat down, and waited for Harry
to come in and stop me,
but he never did, never said a word.

There was no lock on the door,
no knock either.
He could have called 911, he could
have stopped me but he DIDN'T.

So I put the gun in my mouth.
The rest is silence.
Friday, March 5, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: suicide,murder,self,rape,violence
This is a true story. Sad but true.

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4/19/2021 9:15:38 PM #