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

    Like

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