"I never thought of them as lovers; they were
Poems ready to pitch themselves off the edge.
I was their sign to danger.
I was the last few sentences of a suicide note left on the counter on a Sunday morning.
I was an emergency siren screaming and no one noticed.
I was silent sugar sweet and no one could see they were using me to give themselves cavities.
I was simply the white lighter left in the pocket of a boy who never came home."