The crack across the glass screen calling time
Chimes out the screeching to a halt.
A full stop.
The end
of another
fallen
friend.
Sweet suicide?
I call it the theft, that left my heart bereft
My life without the shape and texture of a love
That only one could give.
And a pain that can never be soothed
And a wound that can never be healed
And a reality that was never more clear than in these times
In the lingering of this tongue on trite futile lines
Because these acts that took those lives from mine
are the smorgasbord from which I will commit my crime.
And the days will be numerous between this day and then
But the measure of life, is when I say when.