“My Life Reads Like a Suicide Note”

On By Mike U.In Poetry

“My Life Reads Like a Suicide Note”
© 2025 by Michael L. Utley

my old man died alone
on a busted sofa
on a September farm
in the middle
of nowhere
with a gut full of
prescription drugs
and a poorly scrawled note
left on the kitchen table

“something went wrong
in my head”

it said

he checked out
without tipping
the bellboy
the cheap fuck
remorseless
to the end

and in his
final act
on planet earth
he also killed
me

closure
wasn’t in
his 10th grade
drop-out
vocabulary
neither were
compassion
decency
empathy
love
his lexicon
was one of
unfettered cruelty
willful ignorance
narcissistic dominance
bigotry
hate
violence

closure?
there is no closure
when the bad guys
get away with murder
and speed outta town
at midnight
in black-windowed
coupes with fat tires
and skulls painted
on the hoods
glasspacks roaring
tearing the world
to pieces

there is no closure
when the deceased
can’t sleep
and bones rattle
restlessly
in coffins
and closets
and all
you can see
on the insides
of your eyelids
is the haggard face
of a seven-year-old kid
staring back
at you

so tell me
do you know
what it’s like
to be a ghost?
to lurk in
sunless corners
among dust motes
and spider webs
and choke
on the cloying darkness
that surrounds you
permeates you
to see horrors but
never be seen
to know fey secrets
that should
never be known
to hear with
deafened ears
silent whisperings
best left unheard
do you?

I’ve been gone
a long time
my father’s
smudged and bloody
fingerprints
all over
my cheap headstone
the desiccated yellow turf
of my plot
beaten to dust
beneath his
boot prints
isn’t it funny
how the dead persist?
you’d almost think
he mourned my passing
if it weren’t for his
soft laughter that
sounds more like
the cries of jackals

sometimes
in the wan hours
when the world
is asleep
and all is quiet
I push through
the sod
and float
on night breezes
navigating by
starlight and
moonbeams
among the
crooked marble crosses
and faded plastic flowers
of lost souls
and settle down
on cold dewy grass
and reach out
tentatively
toward my headstone
and weep
for that seven-year-old kid
who never had a chance
that child who died
and was reincarnated
as his mother’s protector
his father’s enemy
his fate written
in the blood
of the wound
he inflicted on his
father’s forehead
the scar that remained
until the old man
killed himself
alone
on a busted sofa
on a September farm
in the middle of
nowhere

65 thoughts on ““My Life Reads Like a Suicide Note””

  1. We are all, haunted by those whom we are related to who’d died, in one way or another, whether or not we’re, close to them or not…as death has that, huge impact on the living, we just haven’t begun, feeling it, yet…

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    1. You’re right, of course. I’m 61 years old and still trying to work through issues with my dead father. It’s frustrating and embarrassing, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get to the point when I can finally move on. I wanted to try writing something very raw tonight and just go with whatever came out. It’s dark stuff, for sure.

      Thank you for your kindness. It’s very much appreciated.

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      1. there’s still ways to get the resolves you need, you can write a letter to your father, and then, burn it up, shred it, and, hopefully, that’ll, help you find the closure you are in need of with your father, or, you can use a therapy technique that I watched someone else do: have someone you trust stand back to you, and then, you just say what it is you want to say to your father, to the individual’s back, that might work.

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      2. I’ve written about my father many times. This post really hit home as it made me realise I’m not alone, still being haunted and pestering someone quite evil who passed away nearly 20 years ago. Like you I’m in my Sixtieth year and struggle with it daily. Great post. Love it. Thanks for posting.

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      3. Thank you so much. I read a couple of your posts about your father a while back and remember thinking I wasn’t alone, that someone else understands what it’s like to be haunted by memories of an abusive father for a lifetime. I think you’re courageous for sharing your experiences on your blog, and I hope peace comes to you at last. We needn’t suffer like this.

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    2. A few years ago, one of my counselors recommended I write a letter to my dead father to let him know how I felt about what he did to my mom, my older sister and me. The letter was filled with profanity–something that’s very out-of-character for me–and while it felt good to vent at him at the time, the scars still remain and cause problems for me. A few months ago, my current counselor asked me to imagine my father asking me for forgiveness, and to write an apology letter from him to myself. It took nearly two months for me to work up the courage to do this, but I did. It was such a surreal experience, and in the end I wasn’t able to imagine him actually saying he was sorry. The best I could do was imagine him telling me to let go of him, to move on and find happiness and peace if possible.

      I still have work to do in this regard, but I feel like that imaginary letter from my dad was meaningful in some small way. Thank you for you kind suggestions and for being so supportive. I means a lot to me.

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    1. Thank you so much, Joanne. It’s been a long road with no end in sight so far, but I continue to try to find my way though this. Fifteen years of counseling have helped a great deal (indeed, it’s kept me alive) but much work still remains. Writing about it is therapeutic. Your kindness really means a lot to me, my friend. Thank you for being here.

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    1. I’m sorry to hear this, Beth. It’s so difficult to come to terms with something like this. Closure is so crucial to healing, yet sometimes there is no closure and circumstances end up haunting us for years. Thank you so much for sharing this, and I wish the best for you. Sending peace your way, my friend.

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    1. Kindest thanks, Maggie. You’re right–closure isn’t guaranteed, unfortunately. I’m the type of person who over-analyzes everything, so it’s difficult for me to just let go of unresolved issues. Counseling has helped (fifteen years of it) but I still struggle with it every day. This sort of abuse and dysfunction rewires a child’s brain and creates behaviors and beliefs that are so incredibly damaging. I’m still battling self-hatred for things that occurred for which I’m not even responsible. I truly do feel that little seven-year-old boy’s presence, his hyper-vigilance, his exhaustion and his fear. All I can do is keep trying. The alternative is too bleak to ponder.

      Thank you so much, dear friend, for being here. Your presence in this community is a godsend, a ray of light.

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      1. Mike I will always be here my friend.
        I do understand a lot of what you feel, but not all.
        I am glad that you have found an outlet with writing because that releases some of it.
        I value your friendship and kindness and am so happy we connected here
        Look after yourself but also be gentle with yourself too.
        You are doing the best you can and that is all we can do.
        Warm hugs across the pond.

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    1. Thank you, Jane. It’s embarrassing to know I still have these issues at this late date. At 61, I keep thinking I should have life figured out by now, you know? But I don’t think I’m the only one who struggles with this sort of thing, so I write about it. Perhaps others going through similar circumstances will realize they’re not alone. That in itself is so important.

      Thanks so much for your kindness, my friend. By the way, all hugs are freely accepted here. 🤗

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  6. 💔 I think there is nothing scarier to a kid (especially on a remote farm!) than a cruel father who always wins. Imprinted damages go lifelong deep, especially if no one helps you against the monster, or if you can’t call in anyone lest they 100% surely become his target of malice, too. I’m so sorry, Mike.🌷

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    1. Thanks so much, Carol. You’re right about the targeting–I earned that target on my back at age seven the first time I stood up to my dad when he was attacking my mom. That was when everything changed. After that, I became his enemy, too. And I agree with you regarding the isolation on the farm. A major control-freak tactic is to isolate victims so they have no money, no transportation, no friends, no escape. That’s how it was at the farm growing up. Part of me still lives there as a seven-year-old kid even now.

      I so appreciate your kindness and friendship. It’s truly a wonderful balm for the soul. Thank you, friend. 🤗🙏

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  7. There are moments in this piece where I feel angry. Mostly sad. I live with the duality of the father I knew as a child, and the father i knew as a man. The two are very different people. I can’t write about the adult version because he irritates my soul, a wicked man, comfortable to live deceitfully. My counselor says he was a traumatised soul. Yet the child in me still thinks fondly of the old man who would let me spend countless hours with him and loved my company.
    There is no closure. Even when I speak of him, it hurts me.
    You write of a cruel man.. openly narcissistic.
    How does a child cope with those emotions when the natural inclination is to love your father?
    How does a man cope with the memories when the emotional magnetism is to move on?
    You must be so conflicted when he crosses your mind.
    For me, I have decided I’d live with my decision as an adult. Sod him.

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    1. I’ve carried my father’s corpse on my back (as you put it so perfectly on your blog) for seven and a half years now, and his alive-and-kicking shadow in my heart all my life up to that point. Even when he wasn’t around physically, he was always there. Feels like I drained my reservoir of courage standing up to him as a kid and a teen, and now I’m just exhausted and numb. In my poem “The Farm,” these lines can be found:

      “Dead monsters leave
      Memory echoes
      Down the years
      A legacy of pain and fear…”

      I still live in that echo chamber, but I’ve been fighting to get out for a long time. Counseling has literally kept me alive; poetry keeps me going; the kindness of friends such as yourself makes it a little easier and gives me hope.

      All we can do is try our best and be grateful for what we have, and if we can learn to be kind to ourselves along the way, perhaps the sun will shine again.

      Thanks, Nigel. I truly appreciate you. Your courage is an inspiration to me. 🙏

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      1. I’m learning we aren’t alone, brotha. I see the young ones carry a similar load, and I know it’s heavy weight. And we suffer silently. Desperate to shake it off, but it has these constrictor like grip in our hearts n minds… It feels like we aren’t ever going to shake it off. It frags us under so many days… yet we smile as though everything is all right.
        I am grateful that you shared this piece today, Mike.
        So many people share a similar burden, and we need more men to speak up and rally for each other.
        It was a pleasure to share it, Michael. Felt like my duty to do so.

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  8. Pingback: Reblog- “My Life Reads Like a Suicide Note” – Helping You To Succeed

  9. This is heartbreaking writing. Thank you so much for taking the blinders off, seeing the whole picture the wide screen and sharing every intimate crevasse of it with us in this poem. Not something I will soon forget.

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    1. Thank you so much, Violet. It’s incredibly kind of you. It really is a tough subject to write about, and it’s one that has hit close to home with me a few times–I lost a good friend, my dad, and nearly lost a nephew to suicide. Suicidal ideation has been a part of my life since childhood. It’s something people are afraid to discuss but which needs to be discussed in order to help our fellows.

      Thank you for your generous support. I’m truly grateful to you.

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    1. Thank you, David. Sometimes I write with a quill, other times a hammer. This piece was definitely created with a hammer. It’s brutal, and it pulled itself out of me in a very aggressive manner (I was trembling while writing parts of it, trying to keep up with the imagery in my head). Suicide is such a taboo topic and it’s unfortunate because it creates societal/cultural/religious stigmas that prevent people from seeking help. I’ve lost a good friend as well as my dad to suicide. Nearly lost a nephew to it. And I’ve battled suicidal ideation since I was a kid. It’s a reality that we need to be willing to discuss. It’s the first step to finding a path to healing.

      I appreciate your stalwart support so much. Hope all is well with you and yours. 🙏

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  11. Good God, Mike. I have chills reading this so powerfully evoked and written. How you piece these words together of unfathomable stories so true is freaking amazing. It chills my bones and I nod “yes, brother and I’m so sorry for this haunting tale that is real life and not a tale at all. It’s a sad tale too many know. Whenever I think I wish I could write like Mike and believe me I do, I think but I would have had to suffer the pain and I know pain to the umpteenth degree or so I thought.
    This is an important read especially for those that will sadly never read it.
    Bravo! 🙌🏽💓🙏🏼

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    1. Thank you, Cindy. Your generous support and encouragement mean more to me than you can ever imagine. I have so much respect and admiration for you as a person and a writer. Your poetry is brimming with hope and truth, and you’ve been such an important part of this community for so long. Thank you for your kind words regarding this piece. It’s a difficult subject conveyed in a brutal manner, for sure, but it sort of burst out of me all at once and I just held on for the ride. I think it’s crucial to be willing to talk about taboo subjects such as suicide in order to remove societal/cultural stigmas and raise awareness. I hope my poetry helps people realize they’re not alone, that someone understands their pain, and healing is possible.

      Thanks again, dear friend. 😊🙏

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  12. Oh Mike, this a tough subject and one that effects so many, however losing a parent to suicide seems a painful emotional burden. Thank you for having the courage to share your story, with your deep feeling and expressive poetic pen. I would very much like to continue this conversation with you, dear friend.

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    1. Hey, Michele. Thank you so much for your kindness. You’ve always been such a supportive and encouraging friend and I appreciate you so much for that. Sure, if you’d like to talk more about this, please feel free to drop me a line in the Contact section. I’m always here and would be glad to hear from you. 😊🙏

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    1. Thank you, Annette. This piece certainly poured itself out like a story. It came so quickly and urgently. I haven’t written any prose since early 2012 or thereabouts. I wish I could. I have some unfinished stories gathering virtual dust on my hard drive, begging to be completed. I hope at some point I can return to short (or even long) fiction. This piece is so brutal. When my dad killed himself, it left a lot of things in limbo, such as any hope of closure for what he put us through.

      Your constant support is really appreciated. Honestly, I’m so glad you’re a part of this community, my friend. Truly grateful to you. 🙏

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      1. And applaud you for the strength it must have taken to not only go through such an experience but to write about it as well. There is so much healing within this piece for you as well as for those who read it. And it is a major enlightenment moment for those of us who had ever considered or attempted suicide (my attempt 24 years ago did not work) as to how life does or doesn’t carry on once we are gone via such a fashion. God Bless us, everyone.

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    2. Thanks so much, Annette. Your encouragement is inspirational. I’m so glad you’re here, my friend. I’m so glad you made it out of that dark place years ago. You’re a light of hope in this community. I appreciate you. 😊🙏

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  15. I wrote in After Rain Skies (book 1), “Coming home should be the safest thing we ever do in this life. Where we lay our heads at night should be where monsters will not reach us. And yet, so many find themselves making homes with monsters instead”. When violence is experienced first hand from the people at home, the trauma and pain don’t go away, one just learn to live with it. And its okay. We don’t force healing.

    In the Philippines when an abusive parent dies or is dying, friends and relatives would tell the abused child (who is by then an adult) “you need to forgive him, he is already dying; after all he is your father?” And this really angers me because why would you force an adult abused child into forgiving his dying abusive father? Forgive him because he is dying? We need to change the narrative. Death and being a parent are not an excuse to forgive and forget.

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    1. I agree with you completely, Michelle. It’s such a complex dynamic at times. I recall in 2004 when my dad, who was almost 63 at the time, suffered a heart attack at the farm while branding cows. I was living in a town an hour away, and when my brother-in-law stopped by to tell me my dad was in the ER here in town, I went to see him, thinking this would be the final time. I didn’t know what to expect. There was so much I needed to say as I looked at him on the table, wires and electrodes everywhere… I wanted him to know what he’d done to us, to really understand the impact of his abuse. When I finally got a chance to talk to him, I blurted out “I love you.” I don’t know why. And he just looked at me, then turned and began talking to someone else. I was so confused and humiliated in that moment. I realized nothing I could ever say or do would matter to him. I wasn’t his son, I wasn’t a human being, I was nothing to him. And I left the hospital feeling so ashamed.

      He recovered and continued with his ways. In 2017, he deliberately overdosed on his Rx drugs. He had 76 years to make amends. He chose not to. When he killed himself, he killed any hope of healing for me and my older sister.

      Thank you for sharing your wisdom with me, Michelle. Your kindness and support are helping me heal, my friend. 🙏

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    1. Thanks so much, Dawn. You’re right, of course: some things really are just too painful. It’s a hard truth to accept, and it seems so unfair, but there you have it, right? I appreciate your stopping by, as always. Wishing you a good Friday, my friend. 😊🙏

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  18. Dear Mike, friend, this is so moving. I’m glad you are able to write about this, telling us of your hurt. I know that we are miles apart but in spirit and in humanity we stand by you. 🤗 Ashley 🙏

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    1. Ashely, my friend, your kindness is so heartwarming. An ocean may separate us, but our humanity makes us brothers. Thank you so much for your generous encouragement and support. Wishing you a wonderful Friday. 😊🙏🌳

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  19. This poem left me breathless, Mike. Another hammer, and though it makes me sad and angry that this happened to you, wounded you so deeply that it still burdens you, I love the relentless purge and the fury starting to show beneath the deep despair.

    Everything about your writing is exquisite, and reading through the comments, I can clearly see that I’m not the only one who feels it. You touch so many people, especially those who carry similar ghosts. That is a gift, my friend. You help others heal as you seek your own healing. Hugs.

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    1. Thank you, Diana. “Relentless purge” is right. I don’t consider myself an angry person, but there’s a lot of that coming to the surface recently, triggered by a lot of things (memories, nightmares, therapy, politics, national and world events, etc.) and I’d much rather let out on paper or screen in poetic format than bury it. Also, I’ve developed a bit of a potty mouth in my last two offerings (this poem and “Idyllic”), something that is so out-of-character for me. I’m letting everything flow, whatever words may come, and honestly, as much as I hate profanity, sometimes it’s an appropriate tool. I don’t want to offend anyone, of course, but I’m not writing for other people, I’m writing for myself to make sense of my world. I’ll never a Bukowski clone, and that’s fine–I just want to be myself. (But man, that F-bomb in this piece really surprised me.)

      I want healing, both for myself and for anyone who reads this who may be in the same situation. If I can help people in their healing journeys, if I can show folks they’re not alone, then my life has meaning. I don’t have much to give, but I can give of myself.

      Thanks for your ever-present kindness, my friend. Deeply grateful to you.

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      1. I’m not usually angry either, Mike, but I know I’ve been stuffing it and I feel my mood drowning. I’m so glad that you are being unapologetically you, and if that includes a swear word – go for it. They’re even more powerful when they’re rare. Your post inspired me to vent a little today and it felt good to let it out! And of course you are part of the healing energy that changes lives. Everyone you touch is better for it, even when the reading is hard. Hugs.

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  20. Oh, Mike, I held my breath while reading this and got chills at the same time. I can’t pretend to know what you endured as a young boy, and I wish you could find closure. But I know that doesn’t always happen. No child should experience the trauma that you did. Children are brought into the world believing the adults in their families will take care of them, keep them safe. So when the opposite occurs, it’s beyond appalling. It’s head-scratching how some adults become parents easily but shouldn’t because of their abusive nature, while others who would be so loving struggle with not being able to have children. I’m so sorry the memories still haunt you, but I hope healing finds you soon. Exquisite writing as always. Sending hugs, my friend. ❤️

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    1. Kindest thanks, Lauren. This is a harsh piece, for sure (I generally try to avoid profanity, so that F-bomb was a real shock to me). Still working through some stuff, I suppose. My last couple of poems have been almost like stream-of-consciousness pieces, just startling imagery pouring forth. It has a sense of immediacy, urgency. I certainly don’t consider myself an angry person, but what I’m finding as I write these pieces is that there’s still a lot of stuff buried that needs excavated, cleansed and catalogued, you know? So, I’m just letting the words and images come and trying not to worry about anything except purging what needs to be purged.

      I’m a bit behind in responding to other blogs, but I wanted you to know I’ve been thinking about you and your family, sending my warmest and sincerest condolences to all of you, as well as hopes for peace and healing. You’re all in my thoughts and my heart, my friend. 😊🙏

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      1. Hi Mike, I’m behind on reading comments too, but thank you for your warm condolences. I appreciate them very much. Our emotions are still active; we miss him so much. Sigh. Anyway, I think it’s good that you purge whatever you’re feeling into stunning, evocative poetry such as this poem. And you may be surprised to hear this, but sometimes there is no better word then the F-bomb. 🙂 I think it begins to sound redundant when used repeatedly, but otherwise, in your poem it fits. Again, I’m so sorry for what you’ve endured and for the memories that stick with you. But I really hope that by writing it all down, the purging will turn into healing and the memories will begin to fade. You’re in my heart too, dear friend. Sending healing hugs. 🤗

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    1. It’s such a surreal feeling, isn’t it? I feel, even at my age, like I’m half in and half out of existence, just sort of a spectator (specter?) much of the time.

      Wishing you a good week ahead, Melissa. 🙏😊

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  22. I apologize for being a few days behind on reading. Mike, my heart breaks for you. No child should have to suffer abuse, but especially in their own home, from their own family. It made me cringe as I was reading, imagining you as a 7 year old boy trying to protect your mom from your dad. I’m glad you’ve been courageous enough to seek counseling. As much as your writing is cathartic for you, know that you are also helping others through your gift and your powerful, honest story. Blessings and prayers, my friend. 🌈

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    1. You’re very kind, Peggy. Thank you for your generous sentiments. Writing is a godsend, for sure. I panic when writer’s block sets in for this very reason. I have counseling twice a month for a total of two hours. That leaves around 718 hours or more where I’m alone with my thoughts and memories each month. Way too much time to ruminate on old wounds. So, I write when I’m able to and hope something positive comes from it. And it’s a blessing when someone reads my poetry and lets me know they no longer feel isolated and alone, that now they realize someone understands. That’s so important, you know?

      I appreciate you, dear friend. Thank you for being here. 😊🙏

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  23. Dear Mike,

    Your piece is profoundly moving and also touches me deeply for as you know both of my parents committed suicide and I was in my 20s when they were both already gone.

    The devastation of that time was difficult for me, and I sense the pain that you must have gone through during this time as the anger must have been raging inside of you.

    We all expect our parents to be there, and when they have never truly been there, it is hard to ever have closure. I love the power in this new poetic form you are using. It is even more raw than your usual pieces and I just love them.

    I was not able to forgive my parents until they were both gone and had been gone for a long time. It was only then that I could look at their alcoholism physical and mental abuse, and exposure to sexual abuse as being part of what they had been subjected to or been around themselves.

    I don’t feel like I have to allow that to hold me back, but even still, I think those who are completely honest, are never completely without pain.

    Thank you for sharing this difficult piece with such honesty and healthy anger and disappointment and not having a chance to say your piece with your abusive and cruel father. Sending love and hugs, Joni

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    1. Thanks so much, Joni. I can’t imagine what your experience was like, and to top it off with both parents taking their lives when you were still young… Your courage is so inspiring, your will to live and to find the light and break the cycle is the stuff of legends and miracles. You’re right: we will never be truly pain-free. Abuse changes us on a fundamental level, rewires us, sets us on a life-long detour through the rough country of existence. I’m still trying to navigate that dark road. Maybe I’ll find that clearing in the woods at some point.

      i appreciate you, dear friend. Thanks for your support and encouragement, always. 😊🙏

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  24. “Powerful poetry! Thank you for writing and sharing this! <3″there is no closurewhen the deceasedcan’t sleepand bones rattlerestlesslyin coffinsand closetsand allyou can seeon the insidesof your eyelidsis the haggard faceof a seven-year-old kidstaring backat you”

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