A thousand apologies for the late post.
Could you forgive me
If I gave into the burning
Aching in my lungs
(Can you blame me for trying to cut it out?)
Could you forgive me once you find
A crumpled note covered in my desperate
Crossed out mistakes
(A non-perfectionist even in death)
Even as your heart aches, mends, and heals
Would I be that lacuna in your life
(In that all too common web of grief and despair that wraps itself slowly around your neck until you can no longer breathe and every shaky inhalation brings a fresh wave of anxiety and fear)
You’ll get out.
But I didn’t. Maybe that’s the problem.
Maybe for some people
There is no exit sign
Like some forlorn beacon of hope
In the dark movie theater of life
(Equally full of weak platitudes and the flickering of bad manners)
(So we made our own exit: the knife, a handful of pills, a lonely strand of rope hanging from some crooked branch of long abandoned trees
begging to be noticed but at the same time hoping that nobody looks in our direction while we’re falling apart)
Can you possibly comprehend how
I don’t think you can.
So I’m not asking you to understand
Can you forgive me
When I’m gone
On the last adventure