i always wanted a poetic death.
dreaming of icarus flying too close to the sun,
or celia cruz singing her last tune,
before leaving this world.
nobody mourning,
instead praising.
i always told myself i would never do it.
find a sturdy chair before i tie the noose,
spit out the pills before i overdose,
take out the bullets before i pull the trigger,
learn how to swim before i float down the river;
give myself a reason to go on.
i never had a poetic death.
my gravestone will have no heartfelt message.
my obituary short and meaningless.
the flowers will wilt around my grave.
and people will look down on my forgotten soul.
just another number,
just another child;
who chose a poetic suicide as their way to go.
- R.K.