Alone, There He Sits

This poem is another rather dark piece and is on the topic suicide. Suicide is something very sensitive to me as my father committed suicide in November of 2014. Again, it is not how I feel about myself. If you or someone you love is having thoughts of suicide please please call the suicide prevention hotline.

Canada and the USA: 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

A full list of suicide prevention hotlines around the world is available HERE.

A man sits alone
in the place he calls home
and he sits in his chair and he weeps

A tear in his seams
Has wounded his dreams
And upon him, slowly, death creeps

He’s not broken yet
But he can’t forget
How he pushed all of his loved ones away

And now he can tell
That in this living hell
That he’d wishes he’d just let them stay

Now see the blood drip
From his fingertips
As it pools at his feet on the floor.

He’s fought for so long
His defences are gone
And he can’t fight alone anymore

And the pieces he’s lost
That his choices have cost
Have torn his conscious to shreds

His own mind betrayed
Wants not to be saved
So now – there he sits – until dead.

©2015 Alexander Hicks

A Shard of Himself

This poem is a rather dark piece and is on the topic suicide. Suicide is something very sensitive to me as my father committed suicide in November of 2014. Although I wrote this poem with feeling, it is not how I feel about myself. If you or someone you love is having thoughts of suicide please please call the suicide prevention hotline.

Canada and the USA: 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

A full list of suicide prevention hotlines around the world is available HERE.

He sits all alone in his room
Picking up what pieces he can
He can’t shake this feeling of doom
as he holds what is left in his hand

The shards have all fallen from him
Like glass from a fell picture frame
The pieces all fall from within
And no one remembers his name

No one remembers the tears
That glistened in his soft eyes
All he can see is the pain and the fear
And all those who told him the lies

He knows that he should regret
Hurting the ones who say that they care
Now waiting for deaths soft caress
Only now he admits that he’s scared

He thinks that he won’t be missed
No more chances, he can’t ask for help
Blood pours when he opens his wrist
With a jagged, sharp shard of himself.

©2015 Alexander Hicks

I will be okay…

Have you ever had someone you love
Take their own life?
 
Shock sets in first.

The feeling that reality is something that you left in the dust behind you.
And in the coming weeks, part of you will hold on to that.
Part of you will hold on to that so strongly that you will keep looking at the door every time it makes a noise expecting him to walk in, only to see that it’s another person – here to remind you that he’s dead and gone express their condolences – when all you want is to forget that this is real. The shock never goes away.

Part of you will always be in disbelief.

You will want to cry – but you won’t.
Because you can’t.
You can’t cry over what didn’t really happen right?

Then, you will.

The tears will come suddenly. You will not be able to stop them, nor will you want to.

Get used to it.
Every little thing that goes wrong – every little thing that goes right – will bring more tears.
You will cry for hours, days, weeks, maybe even months.

You’ll hate yourself for crying so much, you’ll start to think that all these people – none of these people…

None of these people understand

You’ll be angry at them – at yourself.

WHY DO THEY KEEP REMINDING ME!?
STOP ASKING ME IF I’M OKAY
I AM NOT…
Okay…

Not yet…

But I will be…
Eventually…

Goodbye dad…I miss you…

My Thoughts

I like to think
If more people thought like me,
The world would be a better place.
 
Truth is,
If more people thought like me,
There would just be more suicides.
 
-©2012 Alex Hicks

In no way do I mean by this that I am considering suicide. I’m not.

A Hero Scorn

A story unheard
Of one free as a bird
This tale to you I will tell
 
A hero of sorts
But by all reports
He lived in his own little hell
 
The demons he fought
The vicotries wrought
Were nothing compared to his pain
 
As the stories he told
Emptier than his soul
His battles were all fought in vain
 
He once gave his heart
To one who could start
To slowly tear off his mask
 
But she loved him not
And they always fought
About how he had lived in the past
 
He hung up his blade
And she took his last name
But still they would argue and rant
 
So his pain never ceased
and her anger increased
And stay here she said that she can’t
 
But he loved he dear
And having her near
Was the greatest thing he ever felt
 
So letting her leave
Would just never be
And his problems would have to be dealt
 
One warm summer night
With the moon shining bright
He sealed his own twisted fate
 
He went to the river
His mind all a dither
His only respite from her hate
 
He reterned with a stone
And the last thing she’d known
Was the glipse of the tears in his eyes
 
As he swung at her head
And left her for dead
His sorrow her only demise
 
And just as he took a life
He gave into his vice
And looked over his own little hell
 
From his high rocky peak
Overlooking the creek
And silence to sorrow he fell.
 
Just goes to show
That what you may know
May not hit you until it’s too late.
 
So pick up the quill
Take one final swill
And decidedly write your own fate.
 
©2012 Alex Hicks

Ghosts of Lovers Lost

Okay, so I wrote this poem a few days ago and I wasn’t going to post it as it is on a topic I’m not very fond of talking about. However, I feel I should post it anyway and see what people think. No reason to censor myself on my own blog right?

Cry.

Cry like you’ve never cried before.
Let your tears break the silence of the darkness.
Your tears tell more stories than words ever could.
Tears mean more to most than a fragile broken heart.

But why?
Why are you crying?
Ah, I struck a chord. Fragile broken heart.
It hurts doesn’t it? I know.
I’ve been there too. But only once.
Becasue my broken heart was the death of me.

Yes, I’m a ghost.
Yes, I did this to myself.
Now I am destined to haunt.
No. Not haunt. Thats such a negative word. Haunt.
I prefer guide.
I help people. I help them to not become like me.

So, why are you crying?
Move on. He’s gone.
You are never alone in this world. I’m watching.
Always watching. It’s all I can do. I’m dead.

I know. “Ghosts aren’t real”
Define real
Because I’m talking to you right now
Is that real enough for you?

He’s dead because you left him?
Well that is a downer isn’t it?
But guess what? He doesn’t blame you
I’m a ghost. I’ve been talking to him

Yes I have!
He says goodbye

He says: don’t give up on life
when something doesn’t go as planned

He says: Live, Love, Dance in the rain
Because life is too short to cry all the time
Bad things happen. And when they do
You get up, brush yourself off
wipe the tears from your hollowed eyes
and learn to love again.

Because life is like a roller coaster,
But you control the speed.
And if you pull the brakes on the downs,
You’ll never have the power to climb to the ups again.

See, there you go.
Much better. Now wipe your tears.
You’ve got your best dress layed out.
The funeral is in an hour.

Oh and one more thing:
Remember,
I will always love you.

© Alex Hicks 2012

Just remember, this has no basis on events in my life. I just started writing and let the words go where they wanted.