Dark Thoughts

I.

These are a collection

Of dark thoughts

Mainly procured in winter

Plucked from the minds

Of commuters

As I catch glimpses into their souls

Through the hollows of their eyes

A quick glance through the window

As they roll away from the platform

And thought in that moment

No one could see.

Sometimes it is normal to feel

You are drowning in a sea of souls

That you are surrounded by holograms

Colliding without touch

Taste

Smell

That cannot humanly hold each other.

Sometimes it is normal to want to

Step off that bridge

Floating treading in air

Until.

Sometimes everyone hates you

Even your own mother

And someone who held you tenderly in their arms

But a week ago

Is nothing but a frozen image and

The light you glimpsed in their heart

Was an illusion and there is

No resuscitation in those cold eyes.

And you hate everyone too.

So you say up yours

And slowly shut the doors

The great state of pariah

I guess I will drink myself to death.

And you thank God you are no longer a child

And can be miserable in peace.

Why don’t we admit that prob’ly most of us

Have thought about doing it?

But would never speak it

Because of the horror that is received with

By those who purport to have never thought

About the dreaded Capital S.

II.

I remember when you killed yourself

I was so angry, so up in arms!

How could you cause all this harm and chaos in your wake?

Why did you make me meet your family for the first time in this state?

All I could think of to talk to them about was your silly moustache

And it just made your sister walk off and cry –

And I spoke crassly to your dad about my dad’s shared nationality and love of Celtic FC

I laughed awkwardly with a lot of my teeth as if funerals were hilarious, whilst he stood there barely present with me -

And the other woman was there - the other part to this whole sorry mess – sitting near the family by the buffet table,

They mentioned at the service that she had helped curate the photos, positioned all around us with your large smile, that would take a while to disappear from my head,

I sat by the bar with our friends, raising a toast to you with your beloved lager -

(Three large Becks beers – every day from Tesco - £5 on deal)

And in the eyes of your father, I saw you, and couldn’t believe what you had put him through,

But to escape the reality of this real thing I dreamed you as Orpheus in the Jean Cocteau film going to the underworld

I saw you in the twigs and undergrowth on your way to death

The twigs and wood curled around each other scratching at us catching in between our hair framing each moment

You had a big grin on your face and a backpack

You walked past me without looking back

And I wanted to go with you.

But even back then I let my humour get the better of me

Writing bitterly ironic symphonies and singing flamenco ditties to myself

About your suicide.

Salde la casa (leave the house)

Tirate rio (throw yourself in the river)

Que no me quiero quedar contigo (I don’t want to stay with you)

The fact is that, let’s all admit it

That most of us have thought about it

And what would you write in your letter anyway?

It’s not as if we could legitimise it.

They say the only certainty is death and taxes

So why do we build up such a thing?

We call these fallen the cowards

As we grab on hour by hour

Prolonging our life with a no-fat diet

Or welcoming death with spilling ashtrays

Piling higher and higher

A deep indulgent satisfaction

That we will cheat death by coming to it first

Or it will never catch us as we run

Arms to the wind

Whilst the rain crashes in

and we embrace our human existence

nature sunsets soft bodies warmth love and beautiful voices

or pick over old scabs shutting out noises

by candlelight and delighting in the existential dread

that brings us nearer to our weary bed.

The fact is that the dead sit with us everywhere we go

In this room with you is the you and the no longer you.

Live like you already died

Die like you continue to live

Either way it’s going to happen.

Look after yourself

and your loved ones well

as it is futile and well, pretty rude,

to dwell on the absence of someone

in the presence of someone else

And because we’ve got to let go

of everything that we cannot know.