The Devil’s Rope

Standing up on a chair,

I look up at the ceiling.

You breathed air for my lungs,

gave my life meaning.

It's no wonder my heart's a stone in my chest

or that my mind ceases to wander.

We were linked you and I, always together

until the day you swallowed a bottle.

I reach up towards you again,

but instead I find rope.

When I hung it from the ceiling

I can't remember,

My hands foreign machines

operating on a program.

I throw the rope over my head,

enveloping my soul

and then, with every last ounce of strength I can muster, I slide.

Screams fill the air, reverberating through my skull.

Air, a scarcity, forces me to gasp.

And then, silence as I dive into my final moments.

Then, I see you, and as I'm running

I reach out, watching you disappear.

Even in death we cannot find each other.