I wish
To set myself on fire
But, people will talk
Of how I lost the courage to live on

Because that is what they do
In their solitary spaces behind
Church pews and library desks
They remember the few

Some remember them by words
And others keep their ashes 
Visit their tombs years later
But, I know my books will be made of the regret that's left

Women will swoon over those coy lines
Their children will hear the tales
That I had concocted on a lonely night 
When I gave you my everything