This is not to paint a picture
of some stained glass icon
of suicide, brought home like a hero
on the backs of people
who will get up again tomorrow
and there will be days when
you want to let out the black mucus
that's had you blocked for years
and there will be days when
you want to be welcomed in
to somewhere beautiful
that you've never been to
and it takes a warm rush to get there
but then Oscar Wilde hands
you an opium pipe
and the high lasts forever.

But it didn't happen, and
you knew it wasn't going to,
and you sat there feeling stupid
and you've felt stupid so many times, and
I'm so sorry
that you'll never figure it out, and
I'm going to miss you, but
I'm also going to scream in your
frozen face.
You took a way out that
I'll never take, and
we were going fight this together, and
you took a way out, and
I'll never follow you
you were stupid one last time.
One time too many.
I'll never follow you.
I'm smashing all the glass until
it's so fine you can't build a monument
from it ever again
and I'm burning every song you ever wrote
because you won't be a martyr
because I won't let you
and no one will hear your voice again
because I can never hear your voice again
and I'm so sorry.

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