It started when he began giving his possessions away;
Why he was doing this he declined to say
He’d struggled with paperwork and been in disorder
But they noted approvingly he now had affairs in order.
They believed him when he assured them that the scar along his arm
Was not the result of engaging in self- harm.
They’d noted he’d been down, but now he seemed more cheery.
How were they to know that of life he had grown weary?
And they were not aware of one thing he had done;
He had gone out and had bought himself a gun.
They found him on the kitchen floor with a bullet through his neck
And knew straight away: Knew that he was dead
And not far from the spattered blood they found a scribbled note
Saying he was sorry, but he felt he couldn’t cope,
Saying that he felt that living should be left to those more able
But that when it came to living life he felt himself unable
To do it.