I swallowed 10 grams of paracetamol;
I needed 10 more to be successful.
If I could go back to the pill drawer
and steal the extra 10
I would – why wouldn’t I?
I can’t say:
Where my tongue used to be dry from excess use,
it is now laced with bitter, dry chemicals.
I crossed the road on the walk to school
but froze dead center; the subconscious
had me walking
across a quickfire highway.
In a split second an argument:
Why shouldn’t I take that extra step?
There is nobody around to say
an internal fight
over the striped school tie; my hands had already made
a noose; like brother,
He is no longer around to say
And finally I am here,
only physically; barely late
just in time to witness ignorance
at its worst.
A girl with a curtain cord
pulled tight against her neck.
But her eyes – they are not empty;
they are not silent like my mirror.
Her laugh peppered with chokes,
dramatic gasps for breath
while the others join the charade,
kicking over the imaginary stool.
Year 12, Tokomairiro High School