This is no tribute
Always turning tragedy into poetry, I have no pride in that
This tragedy I borrow to write, and yet I do not
Weep for the one lost
My heart does not shudder and ache
Sensibly, we all nod our heads in time with the words
"I'm sorry for your loss"

A college boy, a childhood friend's brother-
I met him once, a birthday party I don't remember-
He killed himself the day before school let out

And we all nod our heads along to the sighing of
"So sad. He didn't even seem that badly off."
But inside, I whisper to him
That I understand

Tell me, I want to ask, how you give up,
How you stop caring that your mother will cradle you, dead in her arms and cry?

I envy, I respect
You, your decision
Yet I know not how to follow
For where you've gone is a world with wings
And every time I try to paint myself a pair,
I end up with tired feet

I will walk for you.
I will live like your alternate in another world
Where you never get around to making that choice
And all the potentials you turned away from
Still swirl around you in their ceaseless, suffocating dance
You found the end, didn't you?

If the living are bound to mourn the dead,
Then I must not be truly alive
For though my heart hurts,
I do not cry for you, safe as you are inside darkness and infinity
No
I mourn the living instead
They are the tragic heroes, the fatally flawed
You figured that out, didn't you?

This is no tribute
I have turned your curtain call into a monologue
But I have no way beyond this to reach you anymore

*We will pick up the pieces.
Don't worry about us here.
We understand.
Be free.

They say it's a nice day out, but I say

That snow is falling
Drifting in and out of my sight
Shivering
Even my eyes- dirt, dark brown- burrow deeper in my face
Hollow and hiding
My fingers fumble with my jacket zipper
And still it's not enough
Shivering
Cold pumps through my veins instead of blood

I should be dead
Heart beats
I should be dead
Lips blue and mute
Thoughts blanketed by ice
They slow, they freeze

All that's left to do is watch my eyelashes flutter past again
They look like snow

I don't dream.

God gave us wings,
So we can learn how to fly.
Must God take them away again,
Cos we're causing people to die?