I always look forward
to the luminous poems
you poets display.
But when I checked
my home page,
all I saw were thoughts
of suicide and deep
emotions of hopelessness
today. It churns my
stomach and burdens
my heart to see you
this way. There's a
place in my soul for
you, but that place
for yourself in your
own is filled with
decay. You wish to
place a bullet in your
brain, but you're afraid
it will just ricochet around
in your head. You'r diseased
with what's behind your skull--
a dark black stain,
and it's true, we will
never know what you
fear for, laying in bed.
Nobody thinks what you
think--no one. And I'm
afraid empathy is on the
verge of extinction. I
know it's hard to say, I
understand it's not easy
to unbottle what's inside,
I get that it's even a
burden to let go of
what is safer to hide.
Stay alive for me, that's
all I want you to do,
stay with me, and I'll
try to save you. But
the truth is, I can't,
I can only be here
by your side as you
face down the hell
you're going through.
So I will stand here
at the edge of your
trench. I will do all
I can. But you must
fight. You must not
let these demons
take you down. It's
not easy. But I'll be
up here. I'll send
down my poems,
hoping to help
cast them out.
And when morning
comes, I'll be offering
my hand. We will stand
again, sharpening our
weapons for when the
sun reaches its grave.
But friend, you must first
live through this night.
Stay alive for me, please.