When does the grieving stop?
A year?
Two?
Three?
When is enough enough?
Is everybody hurting?
Or is it just me?

What pushed you over the edge?
A combination of things?
That’s what they all keep telling me,
But I think I should have listened
To what you were saying.

Could it have been stopped?
Prevented by meeting your needs?
You were so busy with everyone else,
That I guess you lost your own self-esteem.

Looking back your intentions seemed clear,
How could we have missed the signs!?
Pointing to your end,
An end that you designed.

It seems that you planned it all out,
Was your life so unhappy?
The person that I knew
Was it you?
Or just the person you pretended to be?

Why do I still ask these questions?
Torturing myself with the truth.
Why can’t I just move on?
Forget, and enjoy my youth.

Everyone else continued their lives,
Leaving me alone.
To ponder the mystery of suicide,
Without burying myself in the hole
Of regret.

And I forget,
That I’m not the one that’s dead.