I was once told
the brightest burn the quickest,
that only the good die young.
As if this is okay.
As if this is the new normal.

If they were good
they wouldn't be lying 72 inches
below our feet.
They would be here
beside us in class,
on the field,
in the band.

If they were good
death would have never
been an option.
But hear me now.
They were not good.
They were
Troubled.

It is not their fault.
They are victim to a disease that creeps
into every corner of their brain,
that trembles into every nerve,
until they are
Numb.

The lack of sensation or feeling
of hope,
of living,
of love,
of purpose.

They felt nothing of worth.
Because when you strip
someone of their identity,
you leave nothing
to hang on to
except nooses tied
around shaking necks
With last words
That will never be heard.