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The inquest |
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Excerpts from the diary of Richard McClenan (1971-1989) |
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April 6 (Thursday) |
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Mother, |
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Do you think of me as your son |
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Or am I just a complication |
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I need you now, I need you now |
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A woman of the eighties |
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You never have time for anyone |
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I know your shadow, not your face |
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It breaks the light in my lonely room |
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As I lie awake in thoughtful sleep |
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I pray the Lord my soul to keep |
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Father, |
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Remember me I am your son |
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Or am I just a distraction |
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I need you now, I need you now |
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You live in a material world |
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People aren't people, they're what they own |
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With your keyboard fingers and green screen brain |
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Car phones, hotels, suitcases and planes |
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Please squeeze me in, I do exist |
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When time is money what price is love |
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April 9 (Sunday) |
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Even when I was young you didn't notice me |
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I was raised on helpers, TV and pity |
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When I cried for help you threw me money |
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All I wanted was a pound of your time |
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I feel |
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Pity for you and your mentality |
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Hate for you and what you've done to me |
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Resentment for all your selfishness |
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Content, content only within my emptiness |
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Here we see Richard's true mixture of emotions |
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Bitterness, rejection, contempt even hate |
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All of which began to plague him more and more in the following days |
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April 14 (Friday) |
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I would try to explain |
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But you would never listen |
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I would try to break through |
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That's the time you would shut me out |
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I'd just bottle up all my emotions |
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These feelings bite like a knot inside |
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This pain I carry in solitude |
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Chained to me in loneliness |
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Depression has me, he is my king |
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He shows the path that I must take |
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A perversion of justive of the saddest kind |
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To enter my dreams and I shall not wake |
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April 15 (Saturday) |
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As I sit by fading light |
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And write to you this final note |
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To exercise my divine right |
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A lump begins to swell my throat |
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You cannot see this tear-stained face |
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You cannot hear these tormented cries |
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If you don't understand my actions |
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Then you must read between the lines |
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And now I throw back in your face |
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The only gift for which you didn't pay |
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The gift of breath, of life, of being |
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Something I no longer see a purpose in |
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As I embrace eternal sleep |
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I pray the Lord my soul to keep |
