The suicide note she started
and then never finished.
Tears overwhelmed her.
Her past flooding
her mind's eye.
The tears she cried,
the msile she felt,
the hugs she gave.
And it was all
just TOO much.
The horrors
of her life,
every fear
every tear
All the nights she spent
up all hours
crying
writing
reading
drawing
smoking
cutting
drying.
Her plans
afoiled.
The life she lived ending.
Paper left where paper was
and pencil in two
to match her heart.
She was done.
She was leaving.
Out the door
she did walk
knife in hand
into a sea
of smiling faces.
She had nothing to fear.
For fear
is imagined
and death is ineventable
therefore, known.
Feb.-9-10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem