Poem -

Implosion

Implosion

I like to think that when I die,
I will be able to do something.
Be able to save someone,
Use the last of my breaths to mean something,
whether comforting a person by my bed,
or saving someone in danger,
but... Death can be just as unpredictable as life.
Sometimes, things don't go the way we like...
I was close to death, we were friends,
constant companions. He kept taking people I loved...
Until only he was left, offered to help me.
I was so close... She stopped me again...
I remember the day before, how I'd walked out of class,
fairly neutral, until I saw nothing.
It wasn't something that killed me,
rather the lack of them.
I looked around for someone to talk to,
saw all of my acquaintances in their groups.
I ruled them out one by one,
logically thinking through them.
X person in this one doesn't like me,
Y Person in that one doesn't like being interrupted,
He doesn't like when people butt in,
She doesn't like talking to me around others,
they just don't have time for me,
those people I don't really like...
Until I ran out of people, and something hit me then.
I realized that I really couldn't talk to anyone,
which quickly devolved into me thinking calmly,
I have no oneΒ  and beginning to weep silently.
I very rarely have breakdowns, but, when I do,
They are the worst. Even if I made no sound.
It feels like the world imploded around me,
sound, light, sensation fading,
until I watched them wink out one by one,
like candles in a storms, disappearing,
until I was standing alone in my worst nightmare,
a black emptiness with no one but me to live there.
I don't remember much after that,
Mostly just crying silently in the dark,
peoples voices quietly around me,
burning in shame as they saw me,
broken and helpless on the ground,
I know from this morning asking,
someone led me to the bus,
helped me get off of it,
and from what I can tell,
I walked into my room and locked the door.
And from when I came to,
I was holding the knife,
The tip had just barely pierced over my heart,
between the ribs, just as I'd practiced,
over and over again so long ago,
I sheathed the knife, took a deep breath,
and then three high strength cold pills.
I slept most of the weekend away.
But, at least I'm still alive.
If you can call it that...