The search

I never fully realized

the toll self-harm one takes

on a person's body

how their body is fighting against it's heart

mending the wounds closed

while the mind and heart wants nothing but

to leave them open and 

bleed out

I came online today to find

a short message

not bothering to explain why

he attempted to take his life

And I realized

nothing is ever promised

I had no idea the conversation we had 

could've been our last

I couldn't decide which was sharper

the blade

or his determination to end all things possible

slice and cut down everything that could've been

Mowing down the hearts of love ones

A verse came to me from Walt Whitman

If you want me again, look for me under your bootsoles

When you live a hundred miles away

where do I look for you

Should I search coffee shops and bookstores

or playgrounds

for a man with two kids

or perhaps as Whitman foretold

under my very bootsoles

I'm worried that

the universe will take back what it had created

breaking our dear little Zayne down into fragments beneath the crust of the earth

from skin to bones to organs

to cells to atoms

to nothing

I fear the day

when I wake up 

unable to find zayne

and realize

that I'd better start looking beneath 

the earth

from whence

we all

came.