The Romper

A Missive On Suicide — A Parable

A Poem To The Haves And Have Nots; A Doctor’s Concern To A Young And Belated Having-Heart

Come betwixt the tender shake of fingers To the fearing taste of what is not known — And let me sire you upon these rugged shores; Fanciable is the uplift for the depress-enabled Decollate slave into the heart — Come away, why don’t you?

Sweetening subdued, subtle pains They affront easily on their skimming kindness But I know this youngster shan’t fold, It isn’t in their heart to retreat without Come away, why don’t you?

Oh, how ye so eager to the day Become belayed in all the soft lies That they studied you for, come through Much to their dismay Come splaying to the cheating fay

To relieve yourself once and away From the days’ injuries — inflicted by friends bested, Never to be left to laze around By the Crow’s nest Come, is it this day to do the deeds?

When the day’s return is hollow And the influence of cheapening beads, Be not surprised by the tendering Flock that takes all worth away

A peal of laughter grasped in hand When the night of much arouse; It didn’t end in the pitching toil Of an unsteady hand

The heart is disquietened by the useless Kin, and harming confidante, why be it And why is it a surprise to all that you Decide to coax absolute despair

You rebuke, and they swear You vex, and they dare-on You dine, and they fill themselves On flexing off your denigrates

A peal of laughter grasped in hand When the night of much arouse It didn’t end in the pitching toil Of an unsteady hand

When all motive is forlorn To the chest of the knocking rib cage A daring silence, beating anon Cheating the tight remains of a day

Without a sound, the feeling is impressed Yet wordless, and regardless it pushes Into your sturdy breast thence, wherein It fluctuates on your beating heart

If that Doctor be as on your heart As the near, dear good friend ought to be As they’re for I; then swear danger! For that thieving hope;

When it vanishes all upon you Leaving one to nothing, as heart Capitulates the raven to ensnare The once-broken heart, into evening revenue;

Some shall cheat you — chide you For throwing a beseeched miracle away; I have no further opinion on it, then A daring to be or not ado the acts

Be past the fond adieu As another distains The bellow-back heart But don’t heart seek

Your contempt upon Another, and what They weren’t for thee; There is a moment

For the bad-tempered child That was left to sob away In the outhouse alone, And another to self-murder.

You, youngster, try more than you should, Irritating the less consistent heart Of a sage, near and above them; Leaving them all the more shattered

When things don’t fall within their Tightened scheme of things, That cannot allow the magik of things By happy-happenstance to be,

When the fear leads them on Too eager to please; Oh, have half the halves to retain That disdain, to one who is almost

Entirely without, that dare Hindsight that hinders you from blindness By confidence of torque and resistance; But resistance is still resistance Whatever it jars its fear anon upon To ensure a humbled one persists thereon

I cannot forebear the unimaginable Yet almost communicable sensations; Some shall cheat it, bidding this respite With the callow of sweet words —

I cannot make such an insult so well, So I remain to you, as I hope you’ll do too Cheat the spot, and follow me on these Great acts of life; whatever the costs,

Live and forebear, yet I cannot rebuke Nor besmirch your decisions, however Inflicted in the mind or to attritions Of living a life without reprieve;

To seduce despair just for a spell — worth too much; Is all the wanton ask one can beg for Seeking thereupon another murder The grandest moments lost to my life, Fears away, just for a day —

The human urging to call madness To what it doesn’t truthfully understand, ’Tis all that remains to the unproven And daringly naive heart, to the looming thought

If I could offer you a rhyme to the grime Heft laying thereupon your heart from this Bout till the next station, I would seize that Playing happenstance, yet I cannot forbade either/or:

The young witnesses to grieving done

Tugs away at your heart, they see

But few will ever understand the motive;

Too eagerly chiding, too easily playable

But they go alongside the happy notion

Of what must be proper by the sheer embrace

Of heat and mustering crowded hopes;

Tissued by the day’s lack thereof,

Little will they know — they’ve caught themselves,

I applaud them, but what about yourself?

In a mouse’s trap where the recoil isn’t letting go

Till the end, and foreseeable, it is too late;

To the root of the missable to the laden heart,

I come down to rest with ye yet.

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©Joanie Adams — Joanie Adams; Gift A Tea: https://ko-fi.com/joanieadamms

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