I know beautiful words in my brain but I don't know how to say them.
I dream of changing the world with my actions but I don't know how to do them.
I desire an immaculate form of love but I don't know how to find it.
I wish to make art for a living but I don't know how to support myself.
I want to change someone's life but I don't know how to influence people.

It's okay I will continue to sit here and be a useless student.

A student who wishes to learn how to make the world love me.

That night was cold and dry as we gathered in the park.
Someone, I don’t know who, lit the first candle in the dark.
The dark mass of the Dakota was ever in our view,
as we joined to mourn John Lennon in small groups of ones and twos.

They kept us from the crime scene where John’s blood still stained the stones.
He was gunned down by some lunatic who’d acted all alone.
John was groaning, barely conscious, when Cops got him in their car
He died there in the back seat before they’d gone too far.

I heard somebody singing, in a strong clear baritone,
the lyrics of “Imagine”; John’s song that’s so well known.
Other voices swelled the chorus, singing loud and long.
What prayer could not accomplish we would try to do with song.

I went back to visit recently to show my children where
Their Dad stood vigil in the park back when he had long hair.
Strawberry Fields forever, the name they call this green,
where greying fans still gather to sing, to mourn, to dream.

The warm sun has set,
And a blade with blood is now wet.
Over his eyes, cold night now falls,
Hearing now only the lost's calls.

Struck by his sworn brother,
Destined to oppose one another.
One life now taken,
The other now forsaken.

Once together so close and fond,
A seemingly eternal bond,
Now shattered and broken,
The memory only a token.

The Darkness and the Light,
Fate-cursed to fight.
One meant to die,
One left to cry.

Now on this dreadful day,
A soul has been sent away,
Guided towards its end
By the gentle hand of a friend.

Face flooded with tears,
Having met their darkest fears,
Long has he cried
For the one who by his hand died.

The regret and sorrow
Stole his hope for tomorrow,
He hid all alone
His only desire to atone.

On this path the fallen knew
Exactly what he had to do,
A wonderful life given
Taken by a sword now driven.

On this now silent face,
There was no sorrowful trace.
He saved his friend from death,
Even though it cost his final breath.

So often too soon,
The sun gives life to the moon,
But in harmony their souls yearn,
Eternally bound to repeat and return.

Its 11:30 at night. You, lovely you, talking about killing yourself while all I picture are your loose fitting shirts and dimples.

If dying was simple, everybody would have done it.

Nobody talks about the truth of overdosing. You'll be on the floor, puddle of ***** underneath your cheek, the last meal you ever ate stuck to your face, you'll never have felt so weak in your life, even when downing a bottle of downers. Hallucinate until you suffocate on bile. Or your heart stops beating. Or your lungs breathe themselves backwards, inside out. Your brain will be alive for 3 minutes, just enough time to regret it, 100 times, outside your own cold, twitching body. Mom will find you, fall to her knees, call dad from downstairs, and black out in grief.

It's not pretty. Your funeral will be messy. People you barely remember (a girl who had a crush on you in kindergarten, the person you told you were depressed that couldn't bring themselves to listen, didn't want to believe it, the girl who taught you to cut your wrists like that) will cry over your body like it was their own. They'll feel tears soak shirt, after shirt, after skin, after shirt. They'll feel your voice on the back of their neck in cold spells and hot flashes for years. Mom will wake up from nightmares, call dad, he's drinking.

And here you are, thinking it wouldn't matter.

I picture your loose shirts and dimples and how simple it would have been to say nothing, never let you brand my heart with anything but a weeks worth of deep regret in a month or two, maybe three, however much longer you can stand heartbreak. But it's not like that, I'm stronger than that. And you are too, you are too.