The reality of suicide

Those scars upon my skin,
Those words within my rhyme,
Those feelings I wanted to hide
As I tried for the 44th time.

The empty tablet packets,
The blades at my bedside,
The rope in my cupboard
All from my failed suicide.

I was thinking: “my pain will be over,
This hell will now soon end,
My tears inside will dry up,
My unfading scars will mend.”

Feeling the pain and pressure,
Not wanting to live each day,
Trying to erase my existence,
Trying to take the pain away.

Last week I was sitting in class,
Studying for a test,
When I was called to the office
And told my uncle was at rest.

I asked just how it happened,
My mother hesitated and said,
“He jumped into a lake and drowned,
He made himself be dead.”

I thought “what a selfish coward,
He left his pain to his family.”
I did not care that he was dead,
Just that he had no dignity.

I did not cry at all that day,
I went back to class,
I had my exams coming up soon
And I really want to pass.

Then the next day I was thinking,
I failed what he achieved,
I tried so many times to die,
The pain will end was all I believed.

He was no coward,
He had problems and felt no hope
He was ill and powerless,
He purely could not cope.

But looking at his children,
His sisters and each friend,
I realise that the pain is still there,
That his death did not make it end.

In suicide you just pass it on,
To the people who actually care,
Because with yourself you take their hope,
Because you’re no longer there.

The funeral was full of mourners,
Probably 300 people or more,
And each person was hurt and sad,
As they walked out the door.

I realise that this is not right,
I don’t want to make them cry,
So I’ll live my life to the end,
I’ll leave when I’m meant to die.

For Uncle John