Your suicide was quiet.
You left a short note
And named no names,
So I was told;
I never brought myself
To read it.

You'd let the embers of
Yourself turn to ash.
You buried so many things
Deep down that dug their way back up
Through your insecurities
And doubts and fears and hate
And one day you had enough.

He found you on his bed.
He called me third,
After the paramedics and your parents.
Your funeral was
Supposed to be a celebration
Of the life you lived.
Your father keeps your dog.
Your mother keeps everything else
In her garage and finds a new excuse
Every day to keep it in there.
I keep that flower you forgot,
Upside down in the socket of the lamp
My grandfather built from
Ashtrays and doorknobs.

Your suicide was quiet;
Mine will not be.
I will not go peacefully,
I will not go unnoticed,
I will not go unexpectedly,
I will not go quietly.

I will shake the sky
With my death.
I will crumble buildings
With my last breath.
I will show fear to the gods
That you convinced me weren't there
With your quiet suicide.

Happy days are fun thing
To come upon.
They don't come as often
As they used to,
But they're still an acquaintance,
And will occasionally stop by
For tea with and old friend,
Or out for a drink with an
Old neighbor and lover.

But that was yesterday,
And now they're gone again.

I broke two bones
In my foot a few weeks ago.
Within a few days,
I'd gotten pain pills
And pity ***.

It's all downhill from here, really.

i find hilarity in our hands,
calloused and thick skinned,
yet being more sensitive
than most of the rest of us.

you'd think we'd have
a more efficient system,
but no.

our hands are built
like our hearts;
put up a shield,
maybe it won't feel as much.

The scars I left on my arm
Climb like a ladder to my shoulder,
The same shoulder
You left your own scars on.
The same shoulder
Your arms embraced for years.

The scars on my legs
Are cushioned by new lovers
In the dark
Who can't see them.
In the dark,
I'm not wounded.

Recent lovers have
Left their marks, but
Your knife in my hand
Was by far the sharpest.
Your knife in my hand
Hurt as much as mine in yours.

"Does that make you an alcoholic?"
"Well, yeah. Technically, I guess."
"Then I'm gonna stop you
From drinking tonight, to try to help."

She then proceeded to hold my arms down
and one naked, lovely thing happened after another
and I might have slammed her head into the wall
on accident and she passed out for about a half hour
and I drank all of my beer in that short window
and then we woke up and she said,

"Why does my head hurt so much,
and what happened last night?"
"I dunno, we were about to **** again,
but you fell asleep."

"At least you didn't drink."

it's hot then it's cold
then it's alright
then it's hot or cold again
then it's just "make up your ******* mind"

you're just like texas, sweetheart.

but what i've got in my glass
will either cool my nerves
or warm my belly,
so try your ******* best.

i've climate controlled myself.
Thanks, Shiner and Beam.