There’s a window in my attic.

It’s an old attic.

I want to open the window.

Sometimes I try.

It’s usually dusted shut.

I’d like to see the outside sometime.

I struggle Stuck to my seat beside the window Eyes shut, but ear opened Heart open and bruised

I can’t stop Hearing the words Spilling through my open window Like searching, dripping poison

Trying to find me To hurt me But I can’t close it I can’t shut the window, it’s doesn’t budge

Because maybe I deserve this I’m a creature made of filth Disgusting, innocence runs from me So I sit there, and don’t try to close it anymore

Why should I?

The words drown my ears Becoming one One terrible word One word that describes us all—

KILLER

In some way You’ve killed something Maybe a person Maybe a friend Maybe a feeling A statement

But I’m the worst No one feels the way I do How could anyone else feel this pain This stabbing in my heart that twists my stomach?

So the window stays open Stays stuck No oil to loosen its hinges No stitches to rebuild my heart

_Cw: suicide _

_• _

She wrote her final note, lying on her bed, beneath the window— the one she wasn’t yet aware she’d jump from.

The act wasn’t planned, but the pen under her pillow and the wall beside her seemed to call her hand.

She pressed ink into concrete, scraped at the drywall, ensuring that anyone who came after would see the marks she left behind.

Satisfied with her work, she tidied her room, then opened the window for a breath of air.

The blade sat on her desk; all she had to do was run the water. But something in the air, something sickening, made her try to close the window— it wouldn’t budge.

It seemed logical then, that she had to jump. And so she did.

She died outside, in the public world, instead of in the privacy of her bathroom.

Days later, when I went to gather her things, I found her note beneath the still-open window, the handwriting illegible. Nothing more than scribbles.

Maybe intentionally so. Her last words were hers and hers only.

It’s the constant state of mind Breathe in and out The cold or warm air I might Just sleep on the floor tonight

Begging for the closure There’s times it falls over But it gets up after an hour And I hate how we called it “ours”

Feel the cold air enter And I shiver then flinch When the warm air appears Then I hide till it clears

I’ve waited years for you To lead me on For me to write That I hate the window

She took half of me The half that laughed when she fell The half that was never bothered when people made fun of her Or when her friends would leave her out The half that was good The half that I needed She took it

I know she’s there somewhere Trying to find her way back to me In the shadows of whom took her She is trying to find the light The light that let her in That let in the full of her The good full of her The version of her who helped her friends Who didn’t cry all the time Who could live without guilt and sadness Who didn’t need to tear up her skin all the time The good version

She stole that version Only half escaped The damaged half The “bad” half The half that cries all the time The half that cares too much The half that lives with guilt and sadness So much she rips up her body To see the relief of blood The half that slams her door The half that stays awake thinking

That version of her made it out The bad version Not the hopeful version Or the kind version

So she sits there in her bed Pondering at night If she will ever reconnect With her missing half

My bones caught a chill, And I felt my quill still. It was then, That I noticed the frosted window sill.

You had gone, Leaving my window wide open to the November breeze, That had come to steal my words unspoken.

The last autumn leaf fell, And a chilly November turned brutal, Dreary December. Ice crept over my quill, And the wind’s sharp shrill Told me I could surrender— But my mind wouldn’t still.

In soft candlelight’s hue, I stumbled, Ignoring your shadows As they rose into view. My quill stuck on the same blank page. I knew if stayed in this cage, There would be nothing to write.

Through the window, A green light glowed, Illuminating the night. I knew in my gut Something was not quite right.

A sob caught in my throat; I tried not to choke. When the window wouldn’t close, I knew this wasn’t a hoax.

Your silent diparture haunts me nonstop. I climbed to the ledge; Let this be my silent revenge.

Waves on the rocks, The tick tock of the clock, Striking 12 o’clock sharp.

Memories crowd my head— Your lips, cherry red, My grief soaked through the bed. I didn’t want to live if you were dead.

My quill began to slip, And with a white-knuckled grip, I held tight. Not a single scream from my lips. A snap, a crack— My quill was stolen by the dark abyss.

That’s when I knew, This sad truth: I, like you, I would be lost to the quiet dark, Neither one of us ever leaving a mark.

I hide in my room, resting in the bed I’m hungered, I need to be fed I’m thirsty, I need a drink I’m depressed, I need to leave

Wasting away in this dim room A breeze slugs in, imitating this gloom I looked to my side, as the wind blows Through that window that won’t close

Marching to the window My feet dragging, my head low I shove it down, to give it a shot As I look down at the parking lot

I’m four stories up No doubt that’s enough I step out for sanctuary Flooded with temptations, anxiety

Voices in my head urge me “One step, you’ll be free” “This life constrains support” One yells for strength, yells to abort

I slouch under the window I hear the cars roaring in the road I sob, thinking what I had almost done The journey‘s never over, there’s still fun

Don’t close the window You can’t anyway. Even if you wanted to

The breeze tickles your skin Hear the rain pattering outside Smell the sweetness of the rainy air

Thunder from the storms is loud Don’t be afraid, when the Lightning strikes big and bold.

Table wood is damp with humidity Sun beams blind your computer screen Trees are filled with green leaves

Green turns to gold, amber, and blood orange The colors are everywhere on the sidewalks and streets Turning to brown as the trees shed their final coat

Pullovers and sweaters. Hats, knit mittens, and soft boots Become your new wardrobe as Breezes become chillier and less refreshing.

Feel the cold in your toes In your hollow bones, Traveling through your body

Wrap blankets around your shoulders Hold hot cocoa in your hands to fight the cold Like white blood cells fight viruses.

Watch the snow fall outside Build up onto the street outside the open window Add another log to the fireplace, wrapped in your blanket

The sun melts the snow, The grass is dead and brown Will this cold death ever end?

Flower buds sprout, Snow turns into sleet, turns into rain Large puddles fill the streets

Umbrellas are no longer the most colorful thing The grass is green and growing Buds appear on the trees

The window is still open, Still watching the world and time pass by Watching the cycle of nature begin again.

O window stuck like a frozen operating system in '95 A portal for dust, bugs, pollen and sun A pathway for the symphony of nature's sounds Wind gusts and birds chirping you bring us My eyes are the windows to the soul With my eyes I look out the window to see the whole.

When the sensory input is overloaded and You just want the world closed It's like a computer that froze Windows won't shut down The window becomes immortal Invincible not to be conquered by he Forever caught in the gaze of a portal In the form of a jalousie

My mind is like a room. Sometimes it feels like a prison, Sometimes like a home. And sometimes just another room, Another place to be.

There’s a doorway in that room. Sometimes the door is locked, Sometimes it creaks open. And sometimes I see it’s closed, But know that I could flee.

Next to the door is a window. Sometimes I look out of it, Sometimes I don’t bother. And sometimes I stare for hours, At what is oh so free.

I don’t like this room anymore. Now I’m standing at the door, My hand is on the handle. I take a deap breath as I turn the knob. “Hello world, introducing:”

“Me.”