MeKenna

Dec 2017

Cunning Linguist

Lucy

It was quite the gloomy day for young Lucy. A very, very vile day indeed. Every day follows this same suit. This, however, does not normally affect her, as she has been hardened by her daily burdens at school; until today. We'll get to that part soon, but first let me tell you a little more about Lucy's life.

She is often the object of ridicule by the other girls at her boarding school, St. Chucky's School for Girls. But this does not compare to when she is at the mercy of Helen. Helen, the most popular girl at SCSG, everybody adores her, but not just that, they want to be her. It is not necessarily their fault, as they are oblivious to Helen's charm. Lucy even finds herself coveting Helen's life, occasionally. But nobody (with the exception of Lucy) can see through Helen's façade: That of a wolf in sheep's skin. Words such as "base," and "ruthless," fall short when trying to define her. Every time Helen begins a rumor about Lucy, it doubles as another nail in Lucy's coffin. We'll file this metaphor under "obvious foreshadowing."

Though try as she might, she constantly feels inept at handling her life when in the hands of Helen. She has attempted – time after time – to appeal her case to the adamant directors, but they – sadly – are hypnotized under Helen's such guile pretense. A compromise is utterly pointless at best. So Lucy primarily tries to evade Helen's clutches.

This brings us to the present, where we find Lucy crying in the comfort of solitude inside the restroom. She aimlessly wanders the labyrinths of her mind seeking the answers to why she feels so alone in this world. She ponders what she has finally decided. If she'd have had just one friend, maybe the imminent future wouldn't look so desolate. But this is not a happy story, and unhappy stories are usually followed by a very unhappy ending. Trying to anchor herself to anything she could possibly have left. …She fails. Oh well.

Losing her grasp on reality, and with a swift kick, the stool from beneath her feet gives way, allowing the rope's grasp around her neck to tighten. Her body thrashes about, fighting, but to no avail. Time flashes before her eyes as she blinks her last. Poor Lucy, she was too naïve to realize that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.

But don't worry, they'll eventually find her body. And maybe Lucy will get what she wanted: for everybody to feel sorry for her. Maybe all the girls will realize the damage they've caused. And maybe, just maybe Helen won't get reprieved this time for what she's done… Fat chance. Such a pity.

Dec 2017

Iris

Untitled

Some nights I don't even care
that you don't care and that's how i know we're both
burnt out, like cigarettes, sticking to the walls of the other's lungs;
maybe i'm just fooling myself because deep down i know
that really, we were just
matches that wouldn't light from the start...
They say suicide is attempted every 40 seconds but i doubt
you'd bother to get to know me well enough to
break into me through the balcony and not my bedroom window within the seconds left- 39,
38,
37,
36...
i'm confident that you had me falling under 20..
You didn't even bother to catch my eyes through
the bars today, you didn't even bother to find out
that my very own existence might be able to be summed up in the way I've thought of the rain hitting the
pavement as tiny dancing butterflies ever since i was five..
four, three...
Why would you speak as if you were pulling me close when really all you've been doing, is pulling me apart?
Why would you remind me to stop holding my breath
when I've been catching my breath on you?
I don't want you in my lungs

Dec 2017

Jade M Matelski

This Isn't Poetry

This is a list of the times I allowed myself to collapse.
These are the reasons I tried to drown myself in a bathtub filled with thick crimson and cheap liquor.
This is my final suicide note.

1. Today in science class my teacher brought out the human skeleton and I wished it was me.
2. I've never drank whiskey, but when my blood turns to Bourbon, I need to open the bottle.
3. I cannot count the times I've created spines on the mirror. I need to kiss the white lines.
4. The cats are meowing, they're hungry. I am so focused on not feeding myself that I have forgotten to feed them.
5. I'm a lot like cigarettes. I light easily. Burn out quickly. Focused on destroying you-always destroying myself.
6. I've got poison in my veins-I unzip myself daily. When I kissed you- I infected you. We have poison in our veins. Addicted to destroying ourselves. The Devil will watch and be envious.
7. I am 17. I have attempted suicide too many times to count. Every time in a different way.
          a. cliche; slit my wrist open and let flowers spill.
          b. drowned myself in a handful of pills and a bottle of *****.
          c. hung myself with my bedsheet.
          d. decayed my stomach lining with bleach
          e. starved the ugly out of me-let my bony knuckles callus.
This time I am going to fling myself from a building, call my friends, and hope they'll catch me.

Because I never truly wanted to die.
I want to be saved from myself. I want someone to zip me back up. I want to look at the sun and not think about burning. I want to be able to sit in a bathtub with clear water. I want to eat a candy bar, and not taste it twice. I want someone to look at me and see flowers-not blades.
I wish I had green thread to sew my veins back together. I wish I had a syringe, i'd **** the poison from my blood. I wish I knew what love felt like, maybe I could perfect the practice.

This is not a poem.
This is not written with the intent to explain myself because I don't know myself well enough to explain.
This is a suicide note.
This is my last suicide note.

Dec 2017

Hannah

Suicide Season

The night I attempted it
they said it was just a phase
I was not suffering,
it was just a hard day.
Little did they know
it wasn’t the first try
and I really did wish I could die.
I guess they didn’t know
all about me
and how i was an artist
underneath my sleeves.
But if they saw inside my head
they would know the truth
about that night
on the roof.
Because it was not a phase
or just a bad day,
my mind is a twisted
chaotic maze.
They would see
it happens all the time,
the depressing thoughts
that suffocate me like a vine.
Perhaps it’s best that they don’t know
the reasons
because every day to me
is suicide season.

Dec 2017

Tommy N

The Actress Teaches the Atheist to Pray

with apologies to Aaron Sorkin*

The atheist starts off with,
“this is silly.” I think I see
him sense the abrupt change
of atmosphere walking through
the threshold into a chapel like
plunging into lake water naked.
When the actress kneels, the atheist explains
how God shouldn’t be so vain, I think of
the actress and whether or not, with her real
kneeling in the fake chapel, she actually prays.
She says, “You don’t kneel for Him; you kneel for you.”
The atheist storms out saying that “This just doesn’t
feel right,” The atheist is outraged that a mother is bleeding
to death, her baby may have no father, and someone’s
little brother is being held hostage by Islamic fundamentalists.
I remember two conversations:
Courtney telling me that God wasn’t saving me
when my brake lines rusted out in the TGI Fridays
parking lot instead of on the 74 bridge.
River telling me that she feels blessed that God has watched
over all the people in her life who have attempted
suicide, because they failed. She hastily tries to add
that God was also watching over Jenny, but is too
worried that she hurt me. Right before the scene switches
The actress looks upand tells God
that the atheist “made some good points.”

Written 2010 as an exercise for the MFA program at Columbia College Chicago

Dec 2017

JJ Hutton

i was a pope

the culture cut into our wrists.
feeling all or nothing was the trick.
kurt and elliot were dead,
pretty prescriptions we all wed.

we talked vicious and vague.
it kept our parents afraid.
only bought music if it was recorded in omaha.
quoted lyrics to the traditionals, oh my god.

the corners of every corridor were crammed.
glazed eyes making meaningless, drifting forlorn.
"i feel sad"
"gee, that's awful bad."

if they weren't depressed,
they were called liars.
if they were on anti-depressants,
they were kings.
if they attempted suicide,
they were a pope.

projections we were.
of all the dead words we heard.