You are an enigma -
Kind, generous, selfless,
But still a mystery I want to solve.
I scan your penned notes in the books I borrow -
You have literally given me your thoughts in the pages.
I add my own,
As if my penciled remarks could connect me to you,
But it isn’t enough.
There is still something about you I don’t know,
Something about you I don’t know but I think I can find,
I think I can find through this, searching.
The solution to every worldly problem
Can be found in a book -
Because asking is for the weak,
Discovery, for the stubborn.

My favorite note of hers so far is "narrative as a coping mechanism in a chaotic world," which seems appropriate.

She was standing invisible
By the noisy stage
Fleeing from the blinding light
From poisoning people
Suddenly her song has played
She danced and danced and danced
Climbed the night up
Slid the notes down
Each curve formed into a masterpiece
Each beat brought her up and up and up
Each tune leaded her to the farthest zenith
And suddenly
Her song finished...

I picked out a funeral song back when I was still alive.

Of course I did all the preparations when I was alive. I still sang the song of my life long before I ended up here.

I still want a good song to "play me out".
So I picked "Save Rock And Roll" by Fall Out Boy to usher me into Elton John styled heaven white tuxedos and all.

But death is so simple. It happens and nobody can stop it. I don't need to plan my funeral when I know you can do it for me.

I would joke about writing your eulogy, like we expected you to go first. And we didn't back then. Back when I was still alive.

So now that I'm... here.
Pick the song for me.
I think you know which one would put me to rest.

Shout the eulogy at everyone, tell them how this wasn't supposed to happen, but it does. My family will be as sad as I was thinking about when they would end up here. But now they just watch.

And I guess I that's all I can do now.

When asked to write about my funeral, this is what I came up with.

I am a little note,
A voiceless sound.
Until I am embrace life,
I shall stay bound.
But lend me to an artist
and then you shall see,
How he'd mix me with his mayhem
so a symphony I can be.
But if I wished, then I
could be a patriot's song;
the anthem you people would sing,
but that won't be for long.
Because the next time you hear
I'll be a melancholic tone,
tearing your heart apart,
as you stare at walls alone.
Or I could be a joyous rhythm
to make your soul smile,
or to make you tap your feet
and forget the world for a while.
For I am just a note;
you thoughts, I can vocalize.
Deciphered only by the heart
and not the brain of someone wise.

EM MacKenzie May 10

I inform you if you knew Emily before,
she is now gone, she is now dead.
We found her lifeless body on the dusty floor;
ink injected in veins and mouth choking on lead.
All that was left was coloured poems,
the pages only lacking a shade of grey.
The same messages repeated and cloned,
and written out in several different ways.

Ason May 9

Boredom is sameness.
A note held to talents end
will be just noise.

No one will ever know my perspective on this story.

Only because judgement is clouded by everyone's bias and opinions.

I never wanted to cause more pain.

But I wish I could erase all that broke these friendships.

I can't think
I can't sleep
I can't work
I don't talk
I don't eat
I listen to the same playlist
And over

No one will ever know what really happened to us. Unless you call on everyone to give up the truth in exchange for consequence.

You know the saddest fucking thing I've heard?

A guy I know was holding his girlfriend while she was sick. Her sister asks if he's helping her.

He says...

"I'm no good at taking care of people."

You know what?

I'm not good at it either.

Nobody knows how sick it all makes me.
Or how sick I am.
So much pain caused by a few mistakes..

And nobody deserved to suffer for months.
Nobody needed to hurt for this long.

I'm drunk on my emotions again.

And as unapologetic as I could be... I'm not.

My life has changed. And I don't know if anyone will ever truly understand that.

So I am sorry.

But I've also spent the last 4 hours writing this disaster of a poem.
And yet...

I still feel empty.
Like everything was taken away from me.
Not taken by anyone or anything.

But just... gone.

Once again, learning to live alone.

Or maybe just learning to live at all.


I guess this informal goodbye is all I can really offer.
Until I come back better.
Or until somebody reaches back with a clean slate, and an open mind.

I'm not as sad as I was about it all.
But it is pain I'd wish away if I could.

Don't go blaming anyone you see fit.
Just take this for what it is.

Time saved
Time apart
Time spent doing all the wrong things

Because at the end of it all...

This is still my life.

I have to stop myself.

Letting go is another thing in life that just doesn't sit well with me.

But I get it.

And so I must swallow whatever pride I have left.

Only because people have been sent after me.

I didn't ever think I'd see the day when my once close friends decided to bash my reputation. And to be completely fair, not everybody came after me.

But the ones who did, really wanted me to have it.

But despite what I've done. I can find some relief in knowing that some of those people still think I'm decent.

And thank God I haven't done anything to some people. I try to be kind, and that gets me a decent reputation. But only one mistake can drive it right back into the ground.

After all of this. I just want an iced capp to numb the pain and to keep me awake.

And sure, this isn't ideal.

At all.

But it's my life.

Or at least...

It is now.

I get it. I'm awkward.

As you pick your poison
Keep your composure
For we'll burn the bridges
    When we get there
    Don't worry
    You'll find yourself
In ruts again
But when that happens
You'll remember this poem
    And also that you're good enough
    Remember that when the lights go out
    Be tough, for you cannot beat yourself

A note to self mixed up in cliché.
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