The Six Different Faces of Our New Friend Suicide

The Six Different Faces of Our New Friend Suicide

Gay, homo, faggot.

Are the names that ring through your ears,

Like the sound of your incoming text message

From your ex-boyfriend Tommy.

As you tighten the rainbow belt,

That kept your pants from sagging yesterday,

That’s supposed to keep up your 140 pound body today.

Will that heal the pain?

Drip, Drop, Drip,

Are the continuous sounds you hear.

The blood spurting out,

Beginning to run down your arm as if in a race

Into your sink making it look like the punch,

That you drank at your 8^th grade dance.

It comes from all of those painful deep wounds,

That are supposed to heal the pain.

Man your legs dangle from 1,000 feet above.

The river that you and your siblings use to go,

Into when you were all inseparable.

The sounds of passing cars go,

In one ear and out another.

The wind quickly rushes through,

Your luscious spikey hair.

Is that supposed to heal the pain?

Sweetie you just want to be what they see.

Trying to be an A+ all the way around.

With a layer of colorful make-up,

Over your pale acneied face.

Your head buried in 5 thick text books.

Just crying those dark tears that touch your ruby red lips.

Those tiny white pills travel into your acidic stomach.

Are those supposed to heal the pain?

Your feet getting buried under pounds of wet sand,

As the waves rise and crash before your crystal eyes,

The seagulls up above race over your head.

At the exact same pace of your mind while your body

Rocks back and forth not to move your feet

Like the barricades that don’t allow you to pass,

While the Easter parade is going on.

Will your lungs full of bitter salt water heal the pain?

You all just want to be wanted.

Your arms stretched extremely far out,

Asking for just one simple hug.

On your knees begging for just some attention,

Like the small puppy you brought home not long ago,

Scratching at your hollow thin ankles.

The only thing that you are able to grasp,

 Is the inanimate air you breathe.

You all feel the sense of forever loneliness.

When in reality you have one another.

You just have to go a different to math,

Or simply look at the faces in the hall instead of the ground.

One piece in the same whole.

Each piece to the making of

The simple machine of life.

That’s what is going to heal all of this pain.
By:Hailee Baez