#suicide #love #voices #loneliness #mentalillness

Our House

Our house is empty.

Our.

Our house.

The empty house

Where he used to be.

For years.

And years.

And years.

Our house.

I can still hear his voice.

In the kitchen

In the hallway

In my mind.

For years.

I am alone.

In an empty house.

Our empty house.

His voice

Is not alone.

It joins

The others.

The visitors.

The voices.

In my mind

For years

They have haunted me.

Jeered at me.

Taunted me.

Laughed at me.

Driven me crazy

For years.

Our house.

His voice.

He left me.

But his voice

Is still here.

In my mind.

Crazy.

In the kitchen

There are knives.

I stumble

In the hallway

To the kitchen

To retrieve my savior

To end my

Existance.

Without him

I am nothing.

His voice

Is not enough.

For years.

Alone.

In our empty house.

In the hallway

The clock

A grandfather clock

His grandfather clock

Taunts me.

Tick

            Tock

Tick

            Tock

Tick

            I’m

Tock

            Leaving

Tick

            You

Tock

            Goodbye.

Bang.

His clock

Strikes the hour of midnight.

The alone hour.

My alone hour.

In our empty house.

Crazy.

I reach the kitchen.

The knives

Silvery sharp.

Ready to pierce my breast.

To rip my heart from its cavity.

Like he did.

When he tore my heart out.

In our house.

Goodbye.

The knife is in my hand.

My hand is shaking.

Crazy.

Why is it shaking?

Crazy.

It moves closer to my chest.

Crazy.

The tip of the blade

Is almost about to open my body

And let the blood spill out.

In my mind

The visitors whisper

They tell me

Things.

Do it.

Don’t do it.

Do it.

Don’t do it.

Do it.

I love you.

I’m leaving you.

Goodbye.

The knife plunges.

I scream.

Crazy.

Red flashes distort my vision.

The visitors get louder.

Do it.

Don’t do it.

His grandfather clock bangs.

Bang.

Tick.

Tock.

Bang.

Tick.

Tock.

Bang.

A howling wail mixes in with the sounds.

Goodbye.

Am I making that sound?

Crazy.

Why did I do this?

Our empty house.

And it comes back.

The times of us.

When our empty house

Wasn’t empty.

When our empty house was full.

Of us.

Together.

We were joyous.

We were in love.

Crazy.

Then the visitors arrived.

One by one.

They came and checked in

To my mind.

And wouldn’t leave.

They kept coming.

They told me to do

Things.

Crazy

Things.

He got scared.

Of them.

The visitors.

And now

He is one of them.

His voice.

Joins the chorus in my head.

Their voices grow

Until my head wants to burst.

My blood is spilling

On to the floor

On to the staircase

On our staircase.

In our hallway.

In our house.

Our empty house.

The visitors grow fainter.

And begin to die.

One

By

One.

Until, his voice

Remains.

As my life falters

I hear his voice.

His voice.

His voice.

His voice.

Goodbye.

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wrote this when I was in fifth/sixth grade (I honestly can't remember which!) and it was part of an assignment to write several poems from a series of four words. I wrote the original poem (not posted here) from the words "voices, visitors, staircase, clock". I think it edited it in its final version as it is posted here in sixth/seventh grade.

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