I burnt leaves on my bed when you blew the back of your throat onto the wall
at least I told people I did
It wasn’t suicide, I know – but it was huge for an 11 year old kid
I picked up that shitty little TV Dad finally let me have in my room
and tossed it from my window
it didn’t break – the grass broke it’s fall
and Mom and Dad were out to dinner so they never knew
and that bitch read your farewell – and I hated her

Billy called
“Did you hear?”
The news was blasting into the family room. My Megadeth t-shirt was
not enough to keep me warm. French vanilla candles were burning from
the entryway as they always were. My pacing was causing the floor to
creak. The portable phone kept beeping from low battery.
“Yes, it sucks.”
I hung up

I walked up to my sister’s room and told her you were dead
She was shocked and wanted to borrow your records
I told her she couldn’t and went down to the kitchen
microwaved some french fries – Ore Ida
I hated those fries – I always burnt them
and the ketchup was too cold

I wore your t-shirt to school
like any other day – and people stared more than usual
The lady on the loudspeaker called me to the office
I got there and waited for the principal and the guidance counselor
They wanted to talk about you
and how what you did was wrong
and how bad your family must feel

But I didn’t think you were wrong
I wanted to be next to you at Lake Washington Ave
in that greenhouse above the garage
with a hole in my throat too

Sebastian Red

© 2011