I sat down – to write.
On a white sheet with graphite.
Behind me a stool.
Enough to raise me – a fool.
Up above a fan.
Soon will suspend a man.
Is that it? I say.
No more a day after today.
The sheet is dry.
And I jot the letter ‘I’
I rehearsed this note.
A thousand times by rote.
Is this how it was to end?
Or this is how it is to end.
This sheet of paper and thyself.
Have traveled separately
To find a purpose on this table.
Was the purpose to write a suicide note?
And then hang self while the note watch me die?
I began to write,
And what I write, I read
And what I read, I begin to like
I befriend the sheet and graphite.
The graphite says, “I won’t give up until you do”
The sheet says, “Neither I until you two.”
And I say, “For you two I will never too.”
I go behind and climb the stool.
Held the blades of the fan and dust them,
Switch on the fan and the blades rotate.
Air fills the room and papers begin to fly.
I smell the air and say,
“My suicide note saved me.”
Some of it rhymes, some of it won't.