I was twelve when I wanted to die more than I had ever though possible.
Seventh grade and a kid has a lot to live for yet I felt like I should have been the one in the urn that day.
Aunt’s Funeral, Uncle’s lap… long story short he felt me up, right then and there
during his wife’s funeral.
My mom didn’t believe me
Another knot in the noose,Â one out of many and because of countless events that happened four years after that it all tangled up around my bruised and bleeding throat. I had officially hit the burning pile and i was dragging myself to be on top of the belly of the flame. Tie it to the top and jump, snap your neck, simple steps, one foot then two and you’re hung.
It held tight and dug into my cuts but my neck didn’t break I was left there, sucking in the burning flesh of those succulent knots before me. He got there just in time, the fourth out of seven, and saved me from myself, the match that I had lit, the kerosine I had poured. I owe Him my life seven times over but now that He’s gone, what do I do?
I’m left with another nail in the coffin
another body on top of the burning pile.