- Jimmy Broccoli
Heathers
Imagine (if you will) being afraid a great deal of the time –
genuinely afraid -
sometimes it presents itself as terror (the night clowns with the scary makeup and meat cleavers and knives) –
sometimes as discomfort (the spiders crawl upon your face in lingering dreams - and your hands are severed stumps, so you cannot wave them away – as you wait for the spider bites and the scorpion stings) –
…never knowing how long it will last makes time move differently –
slower, perhaps
It can be a sensation or prediction of falling while you’re standing still –
the fear of being bitten by the dog in the room –
and there is no dog –
but there is – it’s in my head and he’s barking, showing his teeth, and making an enormous ruckus, angry and threatening and ready –
There is a dog ([I’m] “so scared like I can’t tell ya”) – and there is no dog
____
My therapist tells me my suicide ideations often sound soothing –
more like an afternoon with lemonade on a spring morning porch, sun baring down upon the chipped paint on the old-style rockers and upon the cracked cement –
than my head sealed up in a plastic bag
with helium (first) and carbon dioxide (second) -
inhale deeply (draw the drawstring tighter – the heavy rubber band may fail),
inhale, then inhale again…
“Dying…is an art like everything else…I do it exceptionally well” – and these are not my words…
My first boyfriend (many years ago) lovingly removed the dog and cat water and food bowls from the garage –
he put the bowls into the kitchen –
he then returned, closed the garage door –
car windows down with key in the ignition –
(“gentlemen – start your engines!”)
Unconscious, he was found by his sister –
home early from school due to unexpected illness…
and I did not leave his bedside for months
Mary put her head in the oven –
and so did Sylvia
Cecelia Lisbon died too –
impaled by a front yard fence post after she jumped from her bedroom window –
Virginia walked into the river with rocks in her pockets –
Chester and Michael knew how to tie knots and hang from them –
…they did it exceptionally well –
ask Kurt what a shotgun to the head will do
At age 22, blood spilled from my wrists as I sat on my front porch –
I cut both open with a broken and whittled down tree twig –
I sawed at my wrists until red did more than drip upon the concrete (it spilled)
[cutting your wrists is very painful – it’s not like in the movies]
I looked into the night sky and saw nothing but blackness –
there were no stars…
It’s fear – it’s being afraid –
it’s being on the 40th floor of a hotel – the hotel is on fire –
and deciding to jump out the window to the ground below, rather than being burned by the flames (quickly approaching) behind you
There is a dog in the room –
and he is not on a leash – he is barking – with teeth bared –
There is a dog in the room –
and he will rip you the fuck apart
…and there is no dog (but there is)
Photo: Jimmy Broccoli
