Pure As Soil

I killed myself the other day.
It doesn't matter how.
There was some blood, there was some pain,
But that's enough for now.

What matters was my fatal reason.
It wasn't really sound,
To commit that awful treason,
That placed me in the ground.

I started with that first bleak tear,
That trickled down unchecked.
It's origin was sad black fear.
I knew my life was wrecked.

The drugs had been a bad idea,
My brain wasn't quite right.
After that slight speed overdose,
I knew not day from night.

The age of darkness followed then.
My heart began to die.
Both blade and fire pierced my skin.
My cry was but a sigh.

Through due process my soul was charred,
Methodical and sure.
My mind was fucked, my body scarred.
Not one thing left was pure.

How long has this pool been here?
I have never seen it in this place before.
It has to come from somewhere.
Like a weary sailor washed upon the shore.

The branches may have kept it hidden.
Guarded it from general sight.
Until I came walking through the wood.
On this warm and sleepless night.

I can see the stars shining there.
Between the reflection of the trees.
They play pick-a-boo, the stars.
As the pines sway with the growing breeze.

The water smells dank and musky,
Like decaying leaves on autumn earth.
I am reminded of old cemeteries.
The peaceful scent of heavenly birth.

The moon illuminates my uneven path,
Glinting off of a handful of scattered stones.
A nice round weight that fits easily into my pocket.
They are the blinding white of sun bleached bones.

My feet slide readily into the mud,
As I wade gently into the unknown depth.
Slowly liquid surrounds me in oblivion.
The lift of burden takes away my breath.

As I slip downwards and the sky slips away,
I have a thought so maudlin I can't help but smile.
When next a midnight traveler comes upon this place
With sluggish curiousity to stop and stay awhile,

"How long has this girl been here?
I have never seen her this in place before.
She had to come from somewhere.
This broken body washed upon the shore."