 | If it makes you feel any better,
I’m not suicidal.
I’m afraid to die.
These words seem to ease him.
She over hears my words.
The three of them start discussing them.
The ‘emos’ and there phase of cowardice.
I remain silent as she rants.
I think of him.
My him.
How I couldn’t help him,
And ease his pain.
Not even remotely.
I imagine his mothers face.
When she’s informed,
Her youngest son is suicidal.
How do you tell a single parent this over the phone?
How do you tell this to a woman who works in a hospital?
The children she sees on a daily basis,
Gauze applied to their wrists,
Are her son.
They are him in the one swift moment they made their decision.
If only he knew that she would bleed that blood for him as well. |  |
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