failsafe

Suicidal ideation
's
never a thing I bothered with. Except
for the thrills of plummeting cliffs,
with my lungs aching hard from a hike in the sun,
a smile spreading over my face, looking down

leaning out -

the thought of the waves, just a little bit
sick, so far below

as the brink falls

all the way down,
to a diamond migraine glitter of sparks
- millions of broken white piercing shards
exist
in the eye, lie dancing
a skein
in the ocean mist, or

I
am
visiting my dad's house, with all
in its place, put away -
and the growing heaviness
in the knowing look
of a silent and menacing,
freshly-cleaned

gun.
We know
where we think it is. A place
for everything, in this place. And me?

I'm a tease.

I would not stand a chance against myself.

Before I could glance
with that look of alarm, before
I could even act, or react
in the nick of no time to waste
I would throw myself down,
or take myself out.
Remove the threat,
in the moment it ceased
to be fun. Entertaining
such thoughts

is too easy

to even concern. I know

the signs, how they run
from the first to the very last
one. If they ever did grow

on my mind
to an urge,
an obsession, a shock

of decision made - it can't

go like that. I've learned.
I know.

I'm fine.

I am not that way.

And you know what? I could
never be.
I have already
learned. I could never

put

everyone
I've ever loved,
and whoever's loved me - through that plunge,

that drop
that shock

to that place, where suddenly all
I have been, who they knew

is burned, consumed every moment
that they knew me

- is gone.

Irretrievable. Permanently
disappeared.

Knowing they never knew what
they'd never in years,
in decades, believe

about me. Believe

I could do. Oh, no.

That never was me. It will
never come true. I have

a contingency plan, you see.

It would not be the first.

It would surely not
be the second - I wouldn't be new,
at this. No avoidable hurts.
The instructor would know

certainly, it was not her fault

She had taught it all clear,
and thorough,

and true,

to a serious, fun-loving,
competent man who she trusted,
with excellent judgment,

knew just what to do.

And I would.

It would not be the third.
Or the fifth,
or the sixth -

without further ado,
without further suspense,
the seventh would come,
for good. I would halt, review
my defense, ask silently
anyone present to stand and object,

close
my eyes,
and wish.

One last time - I would hesitate,
and be lost. Unsuspect.

I would lean farther out
than I'd ever done.

I would take my last beating
and kiss the sky, unspool weeks' worth
of spin-cycle sun, dry my face
as I'm pummeled and plummeting down,
quite believably all in fun.
I would

pull the cord taut, shoot the chute
that I packed myself -

with nothing to go amiss, silken wings
streaming out and up,
up away in the dying and blinding bright sun
with the whole wide world rushing into
eclipse.

Finally,

a target too big
to miss.

Everyone,

I know

would be crushed.

But when all's said and through,
consoling themselves, saying
however many times it takes

to catch, and stick:

what they always knew
about me would hold
fast, and they

would hold fast to it.

Had I ever once lied? Okay,

about anything big?

Was I fake?

No, just as I knew they would,
they would take the bait.

The gift: bought and sold. Never guessing
how long it took to make.
They would take it. They'd have to, see?
To redeem the past, and everything
everyone knew all along,
proceeding inevitably,

as many times
as it takes
they would say

- because
they'd still know
who I was

- they must. It's true.
They would never see.

It would be
understood.

One last leap of faith,
to keep in trust

between we who love.

It is over now.

What it always was,
and will always be,
is enough.

And somehow,
easy to do?

They will say it, you know.
And so will you.

And so you should:

"He loved life

so much.

The way he went out

is proof

of how thrilled he was, his life

was so good."