Deonte Osayande


On the day that I killed myself
I went to sleep and woke up
the following morning.

I drove here, where
we haunt the hallway,

walking back and forth,
ghosts that have lost
their way. In death

I found therapy, found sleep,
found medication which

helped me. I saw a bird
at my window and thought
of you, thought of my cat,
the memories we shared.

There is no pain in death,
but there is pain in knowing

you hurt your loved ones. I’ve said
my sorrys so much they’ve become
clichés, water thrown about

and having no impact. I fucked up,
told lies and ended up in this

purgatory in the process. Even still,
despite all I’ve done, you still visited
me in this afterlife where I became
a shell of what I once was. All the bills,

all the money, doesn’t matter here
in the psych ward. What matters

is what you can do for the people
who matter when you become a shadow
of what you once were. There’s this saying,

if you hold a bird too tight it will struggle
and then die, but if you let it free it might

come back to you, it might not,
but you can enjoy hearing it sing.
I was so scared of losing the ones
I love that I silenced their songs. Now,

I let them go, and it hurts but I need to
for my own resurrection. I need to so

I can come back to life, stop being
the undead zombie I was when I tried
to do everything to please everybody

but myself. I’m ready to go into the light
and enjoy millions of tomorrows, thousands

of times I will smile and hundreds of times
I will laugh. I’m ready to go now, to live
my life to the fullest


back to contents