A Suicide Note written by Claude Monet
by Mickey Kenny

I've painted sunrise spun-spirals stabbing black shadows at dawn—
boats drenched in silhouettes with red carpet brush strokes sleeping beneath
circling paddles.

I've painted pastel lily-pads singing on the surface of blue ponds—
          Blooming buds bleeding purple streams to the sky

                                          I've painted death.
                                                     My wife's face was a grey ghost—
I couldn't paint the grey.

All my life I felt heart-beats vibrate my brush strokes;
But that day, my paint brushes became dry skeletons,
The colors were ash.

I had my gardens of Giverny,
Until my eyes became wooden doors instead of clear windows—
My pallets became filled with falsehoods,
         my life
                    Empty.
         my hands
                    Yearning.

I’ve felt the world melt into colors and drip onto my canvas;
Painting skies inside of ponds,
Clouds laying with lily pads.

Can you imagine what it feels like to paint the portrait of God?

To be honest,
I considered a couple different ways to end my life—
a black revolver that looks like solidified smoke,
curling hollow barrels in the metal corners of a black midnight

           I dreamt of cradling the gun like a paintbrush,
           putting a single bullet into one of it’s eight chambers—
                       A single color—grey.
Then waiting for the correct chamber to be reached.

Can you imagine letting the wind from each empty chamber paint a masterpiece on your temple?

But I am disgraced to show my blood to these flowers and this sun.

How pale in comparison is my crimson compared to the pulsating radiance that explodes at sunrise and melts at sunset—red clouds look like wet lips kissing the cheeks of distant horizons and I am ashamed.
I am ashamed to be this pillar of dry flesh.
I’ve seen wet gardens drink poems written by rain clouds—
The pink tongues of rose pedals hold puddles of soft water like they were prose stanzas released from heaven

Have you seen the ponds that sleep in my Garden?
During the day the sky swims in their pools;

I’ve even seen heaven undress herself inside of those ponds—
I’ve painted her nude portrait for thousands to see,
But my eyesight is failing,
And I’m afraid I’ve captured false gods with my pastel brushstrokes.

Can you imagine what it feels like trying to paint the portrait of God with your eyes
closed?

The pain coils around my eyes.

I must go.

I have chosen the pond.
My body will float upon the sky’s reflection and rest with the
Flowers that wait for a new light.

I do not think drowning will be a new experience—
It will be comforting.

Sincerely,

Claude Monet

My name is Mickey Kenny. I enjoy nature and empty journals. I am kind of discouraged by society and full journals. I very much enjoy SLAM poetry. I was born in Anchorage, Alaska. Now I live in Bellingham, Washington. I go to Fairhaven College-it is beautiful. I love to learn, I hope things continue as such. I am 22 years of age.