Uncategorized Writing

Thirteenth Floor (poem)

Somewhen on dark and probably depressing day I wrote this poem. It was marked as Part 1, but I could not find a part 2. So maybe I said all I wanted to say.

Thirteenth Floor

“What floor will it be?”
“Sorry, only goes to twelve.”
“Then take me to the top.”

Seems so nervous.
Troubled, uptight.

“What going on up on on twelve?”

Eyes are full of fear.
Young and scared.
I stop.

“I said to the top!”
“Sorry, son. Can’t take you today.”
“I need to go up. You’re going the wrong way.”

Sounds desperate,
Starting to sweat.
The elevator’s so hot.
We reach the ground floor.
I open the door.

“This is what you wanted, right son?”

Eyes glare hate, then he runs.
I try to follow, But I’m too late.
The crowd swallows him
And he’s gone.

Evening comes and I go home.
Click on the news to settle down.
Anchor woman has a pretty face,
But her words are sullen as she says:

“A boy falls to his death
from the fourteenth floor
of the Randolph Building
at 1pm this afternoon.
Johnnie Dough was 13 …”

My heart is heavy.
Wants to stop.
I sink in my chair.
And all I can think,
… is “To the Top.”

Though this is on a Throwback Thursday, I rewrote the last “stanza” or “verse,” it’s been years since I studied parts of a poem so forgive me. I really didn’t like the original end as it told you what I wanted you to read. To me it’s fairly obvious where this poem took you, I didn’t need to push you at the end.

I never considered suicide, though I did have dark days. I was wholly obsessed with death as a kid, petrified to be true. Examining, exploring it helped me cope with the inevitable human condition.