Archive | Suicide RSS for this section

keep scrubbing

keep scrubbing

everything is dirty. everything needs to be scrubbed. including myself. on my hands and knees, i start scrubbing. everything. floors. walls. woodwork. counters. appliances. doorknobs. everything is so dirty.
*he isn’t going to call you.*
scrub harder. get it cleaner. this house is a disaster, that is not how i was raised. everything is dirty. scrub the washer, put in laundry. scrub the dryer. remove the clothes. scrub the dryer again.
i feel the bleach cleanser burning into my hands, under my fingernails. good. clean. i need to be clean.
*you are just his whore. he’ll never see you anyway other than like today.*
scrubbing. scrubbing. everything must be scrubbed. finally, i scrub the bathtub and get ready enough to take a soak. it isn’t clean enough, scrub harder. when did this bathroom get so disgusting?? scrub harder. more bleach. the napkins i’ve stuffed up my nostrils keep my sinuses from burning.
now i clean myself. clean him off of me. scrub. scrub. scru….
*you’re a stupid whore. how old are you? you knew better. you only have yourself to blame this time.*
*he’s laughing at you…*
scrub harder…
*quit looking at your phone, he is never going to call…*
i’m so dirty. i can never get clean. i’m such an idiot.
~lay back gently into the soothing, warm water. relax. let the warmth wrap around your whole body. imagine it’s him holding you. just as i’m about to drift off, i look up and lock my eyes onto my daddy’s pistol that hangs on the shower rod:
~ then i notice how dirty the grout is. it really needs to be scrubbed ~



angel lost her wings
“It isn’t that I want to die, I simply no longer care if I live.”
She wrapped her broken fingers around the bottle.
“What is the difference?”
She looked up towards Him just as the bottle consumed her hand,
“A lot.”
But she couldn’t make her eyes meet His.  She looked back lovingly at the liquid she lived for, the only substance she would let herself love. The sound of His voice made her shiver a warm shiver.
“Explain that to me.”
But she was pressing her soft, pink lips to the mouth of the bottle. A lover’s kiss was never more gentle.
All she could bring herself to say out loud, all she could believe that she wanted anymore, she whispered “Leave me…..”  It sounded less and less convincing every time she heard the words leave her crippled body.
He watched her broken bones slip into that bottle as smooth and delicate as the blackened bruises all over her body, all over her heart. And He cried,
“Please let me love you?”
But it was too late. Instead of her sucking out of that bottle, it sucked her in. She was gone.
And He cried.