The (Suicide)
Nov. 12th, 2009 | 12:22 am
mood: 
lost
And this, boys and girls, men and women, mom and dad, whom I am not in fact,
Conducting, was her bed all those minutes ago.
This girl you never heard of (or did You? I forgot. It didnt feel like You did). These are the lovenotes
In the boxes, the left-love in the sheets, the brown memoranda stacked
Against Her, the serried ranks of gradesheets, the packed
Jury of her unanswered correspondence
Nodding under the paperweight in the breeze
From the window by which she left; and here is the torn
guitar strings that never got replaced and here is the jotter
With her last doodle which might be her own digestive tract
Ulcer and all or might be the flowery maze
Through which she had wandered deliciously till she stumbled
Suddenly conscious of all she lacked
On a mnahole under the hollyhocks. The pencil
Point had obviously broken, yet, when she left this room
By catdrop sleight-of-foot or simple vanishing act,
To those who knew her for all that mess in the street
This girl with the wane smile has behind
Something that was intact.