She [and the end of everything]

Today I thought of you
And buried all that made me blue
Six feet deeper than the last
My memories are scattered into the past

And tonight it will rain in the darkest way
Under all of it I’m suffocating within the dismay
When I kill myself it’s a precious art
I’ve had a heart and I’ve had it torn apart

I walk alone, and my last thought
“Suicide is prone”
Dressed in ivy and gruesome faces
Wretched vines that wither and consume

She preached, “I hate all who you are”
It was then she left me with the deepest scar
He wrote letters that read “When I’m found I’ll be dead”
Let this be a bittersweet end to a sour psychodrama

Ian Robert Potapoff