Madness Opus

Creating fortresses

Out of bed sheets, pillows

and the corners of my mattress,

I cradle my speakers

Into my favourite child,

A steel swaddle of sorts

I keep between me and my thoughts

Of separation from this body,

A sensation of

Deep depressed desperation,

Thinking of how my shoe ties

Seem pretty tight,

How the Windows from this floor

Seem about the perfect height,

If I could just get Something             done right,

If I could just be Successful               once,

I don’t want it to be my suicide.      

I don’t want to think of my mother,

Wonder how much space

I take up in her mind,

If I cross her thoughts

As much as I cross out apologies in my

Suicide letters,

My suicide poetry

Never hits a wall

It does not want to leap from,

Never reaches a writer's block

It can’t climb over,

Never finds a detail in a suicide plan

It hasn’t taken into consideration,

Never a possibility not in preparation,

I just want to show my therapist

To get some appreciation

For how well I was able to focus on

One thing,

For so long.

She asks me

if I think of the consequences

Of my actions,

I wonder

How many people will attend the funeral

What anecdotes they will share,

If this was a tragic shock,

A loss they could not repair from,

I wonder if they expected this.

I wonder If my mother would attend,

If she’ll wished she’d had pretended

To love me, just a little bit more,

I wonder if she would embrace

my grieving boyfriend,

If she could learn to love him, maybe

Just maybe,

Even in my death-

I am still trying to teach my family to accept me,

I have already written my own Eulogy,

I remember my first draft at Eleven,

It has been eleven years since and

Not much has changed.

It is my greatest work,

It is more honest than this piece,

My Madness Opus;

I wonder how much more I can edit

Before the world sees

My final performance.