I am in a lazy car on the Ethiope-West road
(Obituaries on its bodywork,
So many deaths but the world is still never empty).
My fragile mind fashions the unthinkable
but my body cannot carry it.
The reverend prays that I stay a little longer
Does he know that all the waiting does is ripen me for death?
When the harvester comes she will find me
all broken bones and mangled flesh.
Depression is shrouding me,
Death taking me in small portions.
I have dreams where a child tries to cry me back to life,
She calls it the resurrection of magic.
They smell like petrichor, these suicidal tendencies
My lover says she’ll kill me if I ever kill myself
I wonder if she knows I am a ghost
My body just hasn’t been lowered yet.
When I tell her that my thoughts will kill me
She responds ‘I will die from loneliness’.
SUICIDE MISSION POETRY 