I Lost Someone To Suicide
There are days I go without eating, and there’s a comfort in this emptiness. The quiet rumblings reminding me I’m alive. It’s satisfying to feel this hunger, it makes me forget about this anguish. The questions about your decision do not haunt me when all I’m able to focus on is this body aching.
Shaking.
Trying not to collapse and I hold onto myself because that’s the only thing I can do.
Then there are days where I consume everything, because the space that you left is as vast, endless and empty as the sea. There’s almost a relief, to silencing my body’s natural need. This desire so violent it screams. For sustenance-to be filled, full.
When I’m not hurting, I feel the gravity of your decision and it crushes me. I feel like I can’t breathe. One more tragedy away from lunacy.
Then there are other days where the world feels too big, and too grand; and I can not find inspiration in all this art ,and beauty and I trace my footsteps back to this thought that I should follow in your lead.
I’ve seemed to had married your ghost.
I made a home for us, which I painted blue because that color makes me happy, and I planted hydrangea flowers too. Where we could sit by the fireplace, and reminisce about a love so deep-you could drown.
How many days can I wake up hungry?
Until I’m nothing but skin and bones?
How many calories must I consume to feel whole?
Until I’ve matched the weight of your absence?
Because that...that seems impossible.
Shaking.
Trying not to collapse and I hold onto myself because that’s the only thing I can do.
Then there are days where I consume everything, because the space that you left is as vast, endless and empty as the sea. There’s almost a relief, to silencing my body’s natural need. This desire so violent it screams. For sustenance-to be filled, full.
When I’m not hurting, I feel the gravity of your decision and it crushes me. I feel like I can’t breathe. One more tragedy away from lunacy.
Then there are other days where the world feels too big, and too grand; and I can not find inspiration in all this art ,and beauty and I trace my footsteps back to this thought that I should follow in your lead.
I’ve seemed to had married your ghost.
I made a home for us, which I painted blue because that color makes me happy, and I planted hydrangea flowers too. Where we could sit by the fireplace, and reminisce about a love so deep-you could drown.
How many days can I wake up hungry?
Until I’m nothing but skin and bones?
How many calories must I consume to feel whole?
Until I’ve matched the weight of your absence?
Because that...that seems impossible.
