I've seen the darkest depths now.
Kept visiting tones of midnight,
thought there couldn't be any more ink
to stain my heart
 but I was wrong.
There is a shadow darker
than all those that have haunted you.
A cold, unforgiving shade of black
 called suicide.
Until you have stood
sheathed in in,
draped in it,
permeated by it,
 you have seen nothing.

I was but a writhing corpse
stabbed by naked truth,
 devastating despair.
Nothing but tears 
and ragged sobs,
 shreds of words.
I wanted out so desperately.
But there was still
the slightest gossamer thread
 of hope.

I still wade through the waters,
 still caught in the undertow.
I glance back at the centre
of the black lake
 and close my eyes.

"I loved not wisely
but too well." - Othello.