People swear and people lie
Grow up thinking you're one of a kind
People laugh and people cry
We all have scars we try to hide
She has a past and he has no future
Wish that your skin was a little smoother
Trace the lines with a blade
Starring at the sky that has started to fade
People swear and people lie
Wonder when it's my turn to die

It has been beautiful, late August, full moon
a million crickets following
a million fireflies in June,
a million May peepers. Immersed
in insect, amphibian cycles, I am a mammal, drugged,
crossing the road, car approaching
fast, unnoticed.

I would choose to die in late summer.
Why?
So that my wife would have autumn, intense,
to grieve by,
snowy bandages with which to bind the wound,
and spring to reawaken into.
Summer to remember that she's loved.

I'm numb.
                         I succumb.
                   I become
                                      None.
          Not who I was -
                       Not a variation.
        I forfeit
                I distort
                           Perceptions,
                                       Recollections.
            I weave
   I believe
               I tried.
                                Endless;
                        I'll end this.
             Extend this -
Pretend for this,
                       I'll choose.
                  For who?
                            - Not who I was,
     Nor possibilities.
                        But facilities:
       Could they fix I?
                                         Would they dare try?
  Under a dark sky
                    I'll wonder why:
            It's daylight outside
                         but I'm surrounded by
  deep waves of  
                               endless
                                                   night.