Words written after your funeral

Instead of killing yourself
Take the Television and smash it against your sliding glass door.
Let the pieces of it scatter your floor,
Let them cut your feet, trailing blood stains on the carpet.
Instead of killing yourself, crumpled to the floor where your best friend will find you,
Collapse in the bathtub, run scalding water, wash the scent of death away from your smiling lips.
Because you are supposed to be loved.
You are nineteen and 2 months, and you are not supposed to shoot yourself.
Instead of killing yourself , crumpled to the floor where your best friend will find you,
Call her.
Call the girl who never actually left you.
Call the girl who drove off cliffs for you.
She will know what to do.



Its 8:30am and I have been up for several hours before the alarm clock went off. I can’t think of much else to do other than write because i do not begin to understand the loneliness that accompanies the feeling that you are irrevocably gone.
You were not mine, or any kind of grandiose person in the flash of what has been my life so far.
But you were still a person. Scribbled numbers on paper, “don’t drink and drive”, erupted giggles from the desk behind me, 4 years of knowing you. The whole you, but not quite all of you.
And the thing is. I don’t just hurt for me. I hurt for her. Who’s eyes are not supposed to feel like empty glass jars. I hurt for him. The boy you called brother, images impressed on his mind that will make him fragile.
Mostly I just hurt for you, I wish that you had seen a God who bore misery on his back for you, you were never helpless, you were never alone.