Mitch Young and Matt Grundy

A Suicide File

a hound's tooth coat pockets are bulging
with nebutal bought from some doctor
who also was bought to keep those pockets full
the face was lost but partly recovered
so half asleep and half in a frenzy
one side tries to smile enough for two
pictures remain split at the image
cupboards well-stocked with things to diminish
the pain that comes with clarity and mirrors in well-lit rooms...
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Suicide is not unnecessary. If people did not commit suicide, the idea of capital punishment would not be a question. It would be an order. From Columbine to Cobain, people have their reasons for suicide. Who are we to argue?
One of my favorite musicians killed himself. Over a girl.
Elliott Smith was living with his girlfriend Jennifer Chiba. They got into an argument, as many relationships ultimately lead to. I doubt it was an argument over whether or not they need to jump the portal to heaven. It was probably about new linen, or a look she gave to a handsome man, or a hand that Elliott had held.
He stabbed himself in the heart. Twice. She locked herself in the bathroom to take a shower, and he stabbed himself in the heart. Twice. How. Fucking. Ugly.
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I have been nonexistent before. I did not complain. I mean I guess I don't really remember complaining, or remember much of anything for that matter. Nonexistence can do that to a person I guess. I complain a lot. At least now anyway. You were nonexistent too. The universal timeline stretches quite a ways before we showed up. Maybe even as far back as infinity. I wasn't there at creation so I don't even really know, you know? So for as far as we know, we've already experienced an infinite stint of unconsciousness. Even if you don't subscribe to the infinity idea, scientists estimate the Earth to be over four and a half billion years old. That's a long time to not exist. Like I said, I don't remember complaining.
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Some studies suggest a correlation between a sport team’s performance and fans’ suicide rates (Forgrave, 11). I wish I could be that big of a fan of anything.
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No one I know personally has ever killed themselves. The closest I've ever been to one happened while I was at an overnight field trip for drama class. A girl from another school auditioned for colleges or a college and I guess she didn't get in. She slit her wrists and hung herself in the bathroom. She died alone. I didn't know her, but it made me feel sad anyway. Suicide affects a lot of people. They even say Kevin Bacon is only six degrees away.
If you think about it, people are slowly killing themselves all around us. Cigarettes and alcohol and pills and hard drugs and fatty foods and high cholesterol and all that nonsense can kill you, probably will. I work in a convenience store. I sell a lot of the instruments you can use to perform a slow, socially acceptable suicide. I guess I should be honest, I buy a lot of them myself.
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I don't recall wanting to kill myself. Ever. Unfortunately, I don't blame some people for wanting to, though. Life is quite the whore sometimes.
I remember when my grandfather died on christmas morning in 1996. My fingers were busy opening my first present. My dad was so upset he had to puke. It was the first time I reflected on the idea of a life after death. I had gone to church before, but I tuned into daydreams. So, what good was that?
My grandfather did not commit suicide. He was 65 and he had a stroke while driving and he went right into a pole. Regardless, it wasn't fair to hear that someone with that much life had passed away so early. It's not fair. It's not fair! It's not fair, it's not fair...
“It's not fair!” I said to my mother who was wiping my watery eyes.
To make sense of what is fair and what isn't won't get you anywhere, said my mother. I looked up at her warm face and it stopped me from sobbing.
“You're going to get dressed, go to school, and put on your handsome smile. Because if there is anything that your grandfather gave you, it was the gift of everlasting love. Everlasting love doesn't fade because you don't see each other, does it?”
I have always listened to my mother.
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A high profile case comes up for a prestigious lawyer. He can choose to prosecute or act as the defense. He kills himself. I guess he decided to sue a side. That's not really funny. I know the joke isn't funny to begin with, but suicide isn't the thing you're really supposed to laugh at. I once wrote a poem called "Last Laugh".
his suicide note read
"this is probably
not a real suicide
this is probably
just a cry for help"
he blew his head off
with a
twelve gauge
double barrel
shot
gun
i dont think anybody got the
joke
It's pretty morbid, I'll give you that. Suicide is something I've always treated with respect. Is that even the right word? Respect? I'm not sure, but I think it takes a crazy kind of courage to kill yourself. I know you aren't supposed to say that. You're supposed to tell people that suicide is a cowardly way out, a "permanent solution to temporary problems", a mistake, an awful burden on those that were close to you and everything else that goes along with that. I'm not so sure. Then again, I'm not so sure about very many things.
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she checks in at dwindling daylight
a week up front asks not to be bothered
the registry will show her mother's name
locks the door sits on the bed just a minute before
she picks her purse up off the floor
pulling out what she needs...
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If the world is wretched, what makes us whole? Can you really bind your existence to the success you see around you? Hopelessness is a crash diet. It doesn't work for you. Ever. How do you base your decision on the way that someone else makes you feel?
The world is not a wretched place.
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I never want to feel bound to life. Not by other people, or by the government, or by machines or by anything. I want to live life for me. I know that sounds pretty selfish, and in a way it is. If I ever decide that life is something I can't be bothered to live anymore it's comforting to have the knowledge that there's a way out. You can always hold onto your "get out of jail free" card without using it. But then again, I don't know. I don't know you. You don't me. We don't know each other. Go see a therapist, you probably shouldn't be thinking about suicide anyway.
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The concept of death is something that we can all relate to. Even so, it's not like any other experience that you can talk about afterwards. I'm not so sure any one thinks about how they can't tell any one in this plane of existence what suicide is like, in stark contrast to telling people about making your first sand castle; getting your first paycheck; getting into an accident; smoking your first cigarette; believing in the world.
Making memories builds a better character. I'll never feel capable enough to decide for myself when life's not worth living anymore.
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warming her wrists in promising water
somebody's love another one's daughter
readies herself apologizing to the motel maids
double-edged and super blue
vertically letting the life from you
casting a new darkness through the room
angels lay their odds on you
know not quite what they should do
only that they can't quite tear themselves from the view