Poetry Attempt: A Suicide Note for the Past

I don't particularly want to talk about this one. Or say what it could possibly be about, I think that should likely be very obvious. Writing this one took a tremendous amount out of me, and was originally poised to be something that would act as a sort of catharsis. A method to get me to further understand and categorize a perpetual issue (or issues) of mine. But I've failed at that. It's all just a dirge of endlessly nauseating misery and nothing more. Life limps along, tomorrow I will likely wake up, everything will be the same. 

 

I Can’t Let Them Go

From the ashes of your corrupted womb

I lost my voice

And emerged ill-formed, desolate 

Unformed in your image 

With recurring nightmares 

As the rattling screws

Barely holding together 

My marionette existence.

Wake up shivering

In the heavy echoes of

All invisible fists pummeling their heads in,

My frail body cowering 

At the monstrosity I unleashed

And the hideous destructor,

Troubled little fated murder 

You’ve always seen me as.

You’re terrified at all the lost light

Draining from your child’s eyes 

As he throws himself across the room

Planting his bruised flesh into the walls,

Spelling out a path 

Of radical self-destruction,

An actualized sorrow 

All-too-familiar, but impossible to face.

All the broken glass shines his blood 

Into dazzling crimson pools of guilt,

Innermost genetic disorder,

He’s lost in fits of uncontrollable tears

The little mirror of your creation,

Alone and broken,

But all you choose to see 

Is the nightmare you carried, 

The matricidal form that shares your face

Burying kitchen knives into your restless, ruptured heart.

It’s worse than you could ever know, 

He cries for your help

But it’s all much too late. 

Your name is written across his death,

A child’s corpse swinging on an axis, 

Dangling from the spinning mobile,

Endlessly twisting with its slack jaw,

Bloated skin that once housed your blood, 

All localized in the rotten epicenter

Of your bloodshot eye. 

Cut him down,

His breath still smells like chocolate and amniotic fluid,

His fading shadows in your image, 

Stapled across his prepubescent chest 

Are the condemning letters 

Marking you as to blame,

His failed, neglecting imperium. 

Dead, child, dead. There is no more refuge

No excuses for your missteps and falls, 

He has been mercifully delivered

Out from your controlling reign.

There’s no going back.

Spiraling out of your son’s rotting head 

Like a funneling maelstrom 

Of engorged flies,

The dream repeats unendingly

Until there’s nothing left

But your bloodied mist silhouette 

Staining the broken pavement,

My shivered screams painting the hypnagogic stars,

Destructing orbs of hairy fists 

Creating noxious craters

At all the spots where your skull shattered.

The beast of my making sucks in the slaughtering stars,

Pries open the festering infection 

Taking root in my underdeveloped head 

And smiles at his reflection

Radiating from my vertical wounds. 

Wake up into the fevered guilt,

Stumbling with tear-soaked pillow

Towards the swirling, mold-scented darkness

Screaming out from your bedroom door,

I curl myself with the dust-gathering

At the foot of your bed

While your self-medicated breath snarls and wheezes,

Pushing me away, 

I’m somnabulishing 

Towards the rolled-up baggy of white powder

Burning a hole in your bathroom floor. 

I stomached all the blame.

As I raged,

As I dreamed,

As I struggled

And suffered 

And succumbed 

To the mental firmament you gifted me,

You weren’t there. 

As I sank into the collapsing home,
Turned my head into the gnawing oblivion,

Unsheathed the razor blade

And carved doom-laden inscriptions 

Into my pallid, shrinking flesh, 

As I crawled my way, frenzied and desperate,

Through the bottle of sleeping pills

And wished for all the awful, prophetical dreams 

To finally snuff me out for good,

You weren’t there. 

I molded myself from your absence, 

I have to leave you all behind. 

But the older I become, 

The wider my tired eyes swell,

The further I drown

Inside the prescribed continuum 

Of hereditary madness,

The closer I rise to the ugly confrontation 

Of my past self’s tiny body 

Dangling dead, snapped neck, frozen tears

Weighing heavier and heavier

Above my perpetual nightmare manifesting head. 

The harbinger of my rapidly intensifying doom,

You can’t help but drag me down

Into all your neglected failures,

Now cut the body down

And let the child you murdered,

The poorly puppeteered plagued corpse
I’ve grown and rotted into

Swing off your umbilical noose 

And finally

Crush me. 

I can’t let it go,

I can’t live with subjecting you with all the blame,

The guilt has long since been my keen,

My sickness begotten,

You could have created anyone else 

But here I am…

I’m forever sorry

You’ve had to have me

As your son.

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