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
Words for Ghosts 
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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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