He sits on his bed, slits on his wrists—a nine millimeter in his hand.
This is the way he decides it has to be, this world just does not understand.
He looks down the barrel of the gun, then holds it to his head.
He takes one last look back on his life, then pulls the trigger—now he is dead.
Blood spatters all over the back wall, the gun drops somewhere close to his feet.
Forever images burned into the minds of many---the most simplest sign of defeat.
Saturday, May 20, 2006 was the day that was personally chosen for him to die.
When everybody here found out, not even one single person chose not to cry.
Nobody could even fathom why he chose to end his life, or why it was this day.
Doesn’t he know how many people he’s hurt—just because things didn’t go his way?
His best friends are now mourning and his girlfriend is simply depressed.
How will any of them in their right minds ever be able to truly lay him down to rest?
How can you ever say goodbye to your best friend, or the true love of your life?
Maybe it would’ve ended different if his best friend wouldn’t have been the knife.
But we’ll never know now who he truly loved, or who he’ll really miss.
All his girlfriend repeats now is "If only I could’ve gotten one last little kiss."
The entire known world has stopped turning, now that he is gone.
Flashbacks of the past keep repeating—a broken record droning on and on.
The funeral was so hard on everybody, if only he could’ve seen all who were there.
But now the question that stomps on everybody’s mind is if he ever really cared.
They buried his remains in the far corner of his family’s cemetery plot.
I wished he could’ve seen all the flowers on his grave---god was there a lot.
The small stone grave marker read "Wonderful son, loyal companion, faithful friend."
Oh how those words summed up so little, he was so much more than that in the end.
He was so much more extraordinary than anything anyone else could’ve ever known.
People would’ve seen the plain truth more often, but his strength was barely shown.
The preacher said a few kind words, but nobody close said anything out loud.
Probably for the best though, because there were so many people in the crowd.
Walking away from the grave site was tough, I never thought of how hard it would be.
I guess because we all shared the same love for him—the kind that lives eternally.
But now our faithful friend is gone for good, and there’s nothing we can do.
We just have to try our best to move on and keep our love for him still true.
We have to keep our faith in him and the memory of him alive.
All the good and bad times we experienced together before the day he died.
We will miss him forever, I know, but he’ll never be here again to stay.
He gave up that right when he chose to take his own life away.
There shall never be another friend like him, in all the years to pass.
His memory will never fade away, even with him buried deep under the grass.
The only thing that we really have left to do now is wallow in our sorrows and cry.
Life will never be the same without him again—even after we finally say goodbye.
