8 Minutes

A poem about 8 minutes after a suicide of someone close to me...based on another poem.

-8 Minutes-
by
Keaton Foster



There she is
8 minutes in
Towards the sky
Out into the sun
She won’t return
Nor will I
Her meat and bone
Will remain here
Home
Her soul
Gone
To the depths of her heaven
Such an impossible prison
She did what she did
Without an ounce of regret
What about me
Was the first thing
That I said
Long before I knew
Only when I was faced
With the truth
Oh my God
She is no longer alive
Her spilt blood is still fresh
Tacky at best
The contents of her head
Are running down the wall
She is gone
Unconcerned her carcass seems
Oblivious to my pleas
Come back is all that I can scream
She won’t hear a word I say
She is done listening
She is done living
Outward bound she flows
8 minutes since her death
7 minutes longer than I can stand
Never again should be said
If not by me
Then certainly by those
Who must come and clean up
The mess that she
Has made of herself…


8 Minutes
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2012.