Speaking of Suicide
He spoke of suicide.
Or did he? Sometimes
I just imagine words
That might have fallen
So I can believe that
maybe I would
have helped
him.
He spoke of suicide.
Did I see the bruises
On his neck? The
scarred wrists? The
sick and bloodshot
eyes wandering
or do I just
wish I had?
If I had seen the signs
In his pleading eyes
Then maybe I
could have
stopped.
Maybe I could have
stopped him.
Did I really notice his unbrushed hair?
The dried red under his fingernails?
Were they even there?
Or did I just
wish that
they
were?
No one saw it coming
I wish I could forgive him.
poem by Tallie Pascoe
Added by Poetry Lover
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