A Satire on Suicide

Throwing the Game

I wondered from a young age if it would trickle, run, or spew out profusely.
I wondered if it would hurt, numb, or somehow relieve me.
I wondered at length if I would regret it.
I wondered if calmly, Id simply forget it.
I wondered the color,
I wondered the flow,
I wondered the time it would take to completely let go.
I wondered if Id sleep before the great end,
Or if any of you would still call me your friend.
I wondered at length if I’d change my mind.
Or if slowly Id weaken, and wish for more time.
I wondered how messy the end scene would be.
And prayed Id go easy, and finally be free.

But night after night as I sat at that like
I never imagined Id make a mistake.
Life is a failure, no matter my try.
Melancholy you call me, but that’s how I resign.
So there in that moment, with note perfectly placed
I set forth on my task, with diligence and grace
I said my last prayer, and sighed my last sigh
And slowly I cut into my last goodbye

Then waited and waited and waited did I
For the crimson to flow with a quickness of time.
But slowly it poured, and then it would clot.
So then I would clean it, but it continued to stop.
Tedious and messy and a wasting of time.
I must have cut into the wrong damn line!
I thought for a moment of cutting again,
But worried I’d error, and double the sin!
So now here I sit, bandaged in shame,
For my failed attempt throwing the game.

- Christy Dunbar

A Lost Cause

Twisted lies that are never spoken - only implied, give me a sense of solitude amongst the deadliest of sins.
I feel an emptiness, that is as deep and dark as the oceans depth, and as far-reaching as the mysteries of the universe.

Your grip reaches my soul and pulls me close to you. It does not let go. It holds on for dear life, even when your words cast me away.
Your eyes permeate my own, and burn hated passion into my corneas.

I can not turn from them. Resistance, even in compliance, only renders a stronger clasp. It is a love not unlike a child’s set of Chinese handcuffs:
The more attempts to escape, the more imprisoning it becomes.

Logic has no place within the four walls of this room. It has escaped me. I search for a door, a window, an air vent, anything. But there is no way out. I am trapped here; while the cries of family and friends become more faint as each day passes. They are loosing hope that they will ever rescue me.

“A lost cause”… become the last words I hear.

- Christy Dunbar