Die blind and blacken to the heart:
Yet stones have stood for a thousand years, and pained thoughts
found
The honey of peace in old poems."
- Robertson Jeffers (1887-1962)
i remember writing the letters, the last summer.
nothing worth reading.
the pain and the tears burned away
the pieces scattered out the window, like ashes
at a burial. it wasnt real then.
this time it was suicide.
i can smell the blood
we can't heal the wounds
nothing worth remembering.
choking on words, on tears
nothing worth reviving.
i wanted to be fearless
boundless
but im full of fear
limited
on the other side of death
waiting to wake up
for you to whisper in my ear,
it was just a bad dream
it doesnt have to end like this
you started it.
can you make it stop?
my suicide
no one can help me but myself.
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