I sat there in the car
Looking at the dead
Sleeping beneath the earth,
Hidden away
From the burdens of life.
I wished I was at peace
With them, but
I could not get away,
I was right there
With the suffering,
With the lost,
And then,
He spoke, as usual, too much,
He told me about his friend, Antman,
About the days before his suicide.
Ant was down in his own hell,
Drowning himself in alcohol,
Trying to fend off the flames of madness,
But there was no escaping,
So he decided to face his worst fears,
Head on.
He grabbed a shovel
And stumbled to the graveyard
To dig up his son.
He had to hold him
In his arms
Once more.
He thought
It might ease
His own suffering.
He never got to find out,
The cops showed up
When his shovel hit the coffin
And took him away.
Upon release, he hit the bottle,
Hard,
But it was useless,
The flames soared.
He gave up.
He found a tree
Instead,
He also had a rope,
Which he made into a noose.
The gateway to his son
Was open…
He spoke, again,
Antman made one last call to me.
I don’t know why,
Maybe for help,
Maybe to say goodbye,
I will never know,
I let the phone grow silent.
It’s unbelievable
He can still live with himself.
He was never there
for him
or his friends,
or his family,
Especially for the person
We visited on that cold day
And when you need him most,
He will not be there
For you.
