Rest in petrol,
flames before cremation
licked her thighs
where no father’s hands
should have been
Driving down the motorway
she must have seen the country
shiver with pale light, swathes of spruce,
obscuring, paths, fields, old stones,
unborn rose quivering for the sun,
she must have seen…
Family albums flickered as broken neon signs
felt incoming ice upon her windscreen wipers,
to the left, to the right
compass wreathed in frost.
There would never be another North
On the Road to Disaster
she had taken love where she found it,
only disciples were drink and drugs
and remembrance of the beauty
of her mother sleeping
Twenty-six diary pages waiting to be burnt
but fire mistress never struck a match,
kindle of the child she never was
On the weight where her children’s heads lay
carbon and monoxide and carcass
could never be a bedtime story
In nursery rhyme lungs
we all breathed a death
deeper than postmortem
a very heavy write no one should bear such a burden it’s too much to bear… my son drank himself to death we are left with a hole in our life knowing he chose death… hugs ❤️
sorry to read of your son. addiction is a cruel bitch. life is very fragile, so it’s important to cherish every sunset etc
I agree with crimsin this is very heavy. There sadness, grief and confusion left behind because of the suicide will never truly go away.
That true Fia.
Excellent. truly.
The topic is always brutal in its finality. How it is written of is where we, as the living, try to reason with the utter chaos that it must be on them. I never, ever understand that quitter mentality. That sounds cruel, calling them quitters, but that is how I see it and deal with it. I have suicides in my family, and it pisses me off.
Many of us have had horrendous circumstances to deal with, but the act of surviving is what makes us supreme beings.
Hope is eternally gold. It makes us rich.
Your write is outstanding in its view, and the crafting of it. I really admire this.
Thanks Mark. Appreciated.
To the outside world, she had it all. Caring husband, beautiful kids and a good career, but who knows what goes on within the skull? She wrote too, and in hindsight, there were the most portentous of clues. But therein lies another problem. So easy to blah, blah and bullshit within a word circus. I totally concur – hope sits beyond even the darkest midnight.