Rhiannon
Bluelighter
Something I never thought would happen did last night.
In reflection...it was inevitable.
Only the good die young.
My dreamer, my beautiful thinker, is dead by his own hand.
No words are possible to capture my sorrow,
And none will suffice in honoring his dead spirit.
But I must do something, and this is all I can think of.
This isn't a poem.
It's not prose. It's just my pain, coming out of my pencil.
What do you do when the person you love more than anything is gone?
When your entire existence falls apart in a split second?
I've cried for a total of a minute and a half today.
I'm in shock.
It's impossible to fathom life without that force in it.
What kind of a world doesn't stop in its tracks at this kind of loss?
Perhaps the most brilliant thinker of all time...
You went off your Xanax to live a fuller life.
Good job.
Look what it did to you.
But you'd rather be dead than alive and mindless.
You were going to get help this weekend, ris goddamned weekend.
Why take it all away before you gave it a chance?
So little time.
I want to see your eyes, with that intoxicating expression that riveted me from the first glance.
I want to see that sinister look appear on your beautiful face.
You're dirty, mysterious, sweet.
Your brother was all smiling and happy today.
He must not know.
He won't know for a while.
Your answering machine message...clever clever.
You went out in an explosion of brilliance and wit,
very reflective of your life.
That e-mail you sent me last night?
Moving beyond comprehension.
But I'll never see that poem you "didn't quite finish".
If you had, you'd feel better, and you'd still be here.
I want to reach you.
I've never known what to say to you when you're hurting, and you've never known what to say to me.
We both paid the price.
I love you.
"Angels deserve to die."
------------------
In reflection...it was inevitable.
Only the good die young.
My dreamer, my beautiful thinker, is dead by his own hand.
No words are possible to capture my sorrow,
And none will suffice in honoring his dead spirit.
But I must do something, and this is all I can think of.
This isn't a poem.
It's not prose. It's just my pain, coming out of my pencil.
What do you do when the person you love more than anything is gone?
When your entire existence falls apart in a split second?
I've cried for a total of a minute and a half today.
I'm in shock.
It's impossible to fathom life without that force in it.
What kind of a world doesn't stop in its tracks at this kind of loss?
Perhaps the most brilliant thinker of all time...
You went off your Xanax to live a fuller life.
Good job.
Look what it did to you.
But you'd rather be dead than alive and mindless.
You were going to get help this weekend, ris goddamned weekend.
Why take it all away before you gave it a chance?
So little time.
I want to see your eyes, with that intoxicating expression that riveted me from the first glance.
I want to see that sinister look appear on your beautiful face.
You're dirty, mysterious, sweet.
Your brother was all smiling and happy today.
He must not know.
He won't know for a while.
Your answering machine message...clever clever.
You went out in an explosion of brilliance and wit,
very reflective of your life.
That e-mail you sent me last night?
Moving beyond comprehension.
But I'll never see that poem you "didn't quite finish".
If you had, you'd feel better, and you'd still be here.
I want to reach you.
I've never known what to say to you when you're hurting, and you've never known what to say to me.
We both paid the price.
I love you.
"Angels deserve to die."
------------------
