suicide

Aroma of chili mince cooking, your dearest family supper
Echoes of your children playing
You smiled ungainly as you went upstairs
Salted tears cascaded down your cheekbones
You clattered throughout the attic
Dusted off a pen and wrote as many sentiments as you could
Numb
Felt your finger clasping as you wrote, and gazed as tears toppled onto paper
Couldn’t apprehend echoes of happiness in the family home any longer
Only could you hear your own cacodemons, voices
Self-slaughter, self-slaughter, self-slaughter
Its soul-destroying, it won’t terminate
Knowing this was going to be your last vision of the humans you commend
But couldn’t stop telling yourself they’d be better off in absence of you
Numb
You set up hangman’s halter and cloaked it around your throat
I don’t hold knowledge of how you felt in that moment
A juncture any poetry presumably could not pen
You plummet
You can’t inhale
Did you want to amend your action?
Didn’t want to give voice
We couldn’t lessen your demons
You didn’t discard of them
They set foot in our lives
In the name of suffering
Sorrowful
We daydream that you packed your dancing shoes
And you live in a town called malice