The Suicide Letters of Jack Monroe
My heart is heavy and my thoughts are clouded with doubt. I feel like I'm stuck inside a toy zeppelin leaking air. I keep running around as the plastic implodes upon itself. My body is molded in rubber: I can't seem to move. I'm dead.
All I see is red!
Tears stream down my face, paving new gullies for upcoming storms. Will I weather this one, can I tie myself tight enough to the mast as the wet winds whip and hammer at me, smashing my tiny boat into sky-scraping swells?
I know I'll drown if I go under; I can't swim.
I need help. Where is the coast guard? The life guards?
Oh, God, please help me. I'll try to keep my head above water as long as I can, but I grow tired. My arms and legs are heavy.
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Mary Maurice wrote her first poem when she was in the ninth grade, and hasn't stopped writing since. Catching the fire at an early age, she continues to dedicate her time to the craft.