Drowning of a Writer

Bubbles… accelerating to the surface. Pleading for my forgiveness, for my survival, my rescue. “HELP!” I’m crying from within the depth of the ocean. I’m losing my life. My will to fight is being taken from me. The strength of the almighty sea is too much for me. My body grows weak. I’m feeling numb. Every inch of my muscles are aching! Yet… all I can think about is fighting for my life. If only I had a little hero, or maybe a little support. If only I weren’t in so deep, but I’m in way over my head. As I struggle with every breath I have left in my body, I sink further and further, into my burial grounds. My new dwelling place, where my bones shall rot into tiny pieces of exhausted life. Soon, I will have nothing left. No warmth of loving. No tears of enjoyment… no successes to celebrate, no songs for the singer, no words for the poet, no energy for living. Soon, I’ll be gone… to never return.
Alone I have battled these waters, and though I came as close as to seeing the shining of the sun, I was quickly grasped by the force of the underworld. Only miracles can save me now. A damsel in distress, I am. I’m falling faster. I search in desperation for something to hold onto, and as I try to recover with the little things, I find my strength is overwhelming. My burdens are too heavy. Nothing could bring me back now. I’m drowning.

6-19-1989 Monday
Written by Gail Brookshire
PS. I use to subtitle this Ode to Suicide… actually the original title itself was Ode to Suicide, but I made it a subtitle so no one would worry or try to take it from me. Now, I don’t think it is wise to have such a title because suicide itself is not beautiful.