Poetry: The Day I Died by Jake Hutton

The Day I Died

The day I died,

I didn’t see it coming.

Others may have but not me because

The day I died,

I felt better than I ever felt before.

And before that, Worse than ever.

And before that better

And before that worse,

And that was my life.

A cycle,

A rollercoaster,

An economic graph,

Up and down Boom and bust

High and low

High, and wishing so badly I was high.

High, and would do anything to be high.

High, and I don’t care who you are,

Get the fuck out of my way,

I’m not responsible for what happens if you try to stop me from being high.

The day I died was no different.

The day I died no one got in my way.

The day I died was easy.

I wanted it I had it it’s gone

And I’m gone, and I wasn’t coming back this time.

In the cold,

On a concrete death bed,

With rat friends and trashcan family,

Pockets stripped.

The day I died, I felt better than I ever felt before.

And then I felt nothing. Nothing...

And nothing is everything,

Nothing is more than everything,

Nothing is what I never knew I needed

And the only place that ever felt like home.

And then I felt sick. Fuck.

And then I saw fluorescent lights and paper gowns,

Hushed voices and rhythmic beeping.

And then I felt naked and shamed and coarse cocoon bedding

And the tears in my eyes as I cried out for my mommy.

The day after the day I died,

I felt worse than I ever felt before.

And then,

The day after the day I died,

I felt better than ever again.

Jake Hutton is a writer from Chicago.