Foot of The Bridge

This is a poem reflecting on a sailing trip that didn't go to plan. It talks about successful suicide. It's weird why it's only come to the surface, forgive the pun, after so long. I have to cross the bridge in question pretty much anytime I go south and back north.

The only way I could express this is in a strange set of rhyming couplets.

Foot of The Bridge

I went out to sail my boat,

She went out because she couldn't emote,

We both ended in the same place

but we arrived there by traveling through a different space,

I went under

She went over,

The wind turned

Her brain burned,

Pan, Pan Pan I called over the squawk box,

She said nothing before hitting the rocks,

The lifeboat came,

By now she was lame,

We abandoned ship,

She wasn't to take another trip,

We rushed to the scene,

But no signs of life were to be seen,

At the foot of the bridge is where we met,

I was warm and dry and she was dead and wet,

I couldn't travel that way again,

She would never travel that way again because of her internal pain,

I still wonder why,

That she had to die,

I went out to go sailing,

She went out because nobody heard her wailing,