Why is it they never see it coming?

Why do they parade friends and family in front of the camera just to say he was so caring or she was so brilliant?

As if human decency where a one way street down which you could drive a snowplow to scrape away the hate that sparked that urge to run away

As if being able to pour out your feelings like vodka into the glasses of everyone who’s ever known you rather than swallowing the bottle yourself somehow precludes you from the pain that sent you down the aisles of the liquor store in the first place

I am bitter and angry and caring and ambitious

But at the end of the day all I can be is a human compound boiled down in a media lab with chemical agents like sound bites and excerpts till I am nothing but an aspiring poet or a devoted friend

She was just another teenage suicide

A “troubled” kid from somewhere in suburbia two years too old and ten times too guilty to merit any real coverage- an analogue for sympathy

Why is it we care more about how many people come to our funeral than who those people are?

She was not so pretty or inoffensive as to be memorialised in Facebook posts like sermons from friends playing preacher to assuage their own guilt at the fact they didn’t really know her

When I die I hope the only people who cry for me are people who previously cried into my shoulder pouring out there tears with the same passion that we shared bottles

I don’t want the love of fair-weather friends riding behind me as if I am an icebreaker pushing my way into some modicum of success

I don’t want the people I love to see my name as nothing more than a throwaway piece of filler news

I don’t want to be just another teenage suicide