For the one I hardly knew. Forgive me, I don’t know what else to do…


Today I read the last words you ever wrote:

it was a diary of your feelings

& your last poem…


You wrote so beautifully about the sky between

sentences expressing a tiredness so deep

you just wanted to die.

Knowing I failed to help you lift your head

more often; to help ease your burden;

to love you as you deserved to be.


Now there is no way to say sorry

& stay with you in that other world

you wrote of in you last poem,

one you wrote for me…

despite being only another drunk,

an idiot, rare & wild only to you,

yet even I could see with these

eyes of “ever changing colour”

how delicately, intricately woven you were

before your threads

fell away.

on the wind


2 thoughts on “

  1. I realise that by displaying this poem for anyone to see I have made it possible for you to “like” this, but nonetheless I sincerely do not appreciate your “like”: I was attempting to convey the inexpressible loss of someone to suicide. It was not something that was simply supposed to be “liked”…this poem is not someting to I wanted to be merely consumed like any other pointless intenet content…the one person to whom it is dedicated deserved better than such condemnation by faint praise. Va te faire enculer


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