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and yours.

A friend of mine lost his father to suicide on Sunday morning. So I wrote this poem... 


A father took his life
at dawn on a Sunday. 
I've been inspired
to take mine. 

He did.
Or Kurt
Or Robin
Or Chris
Or Chester
I don't know.

Pills. Nooses.
Bullets. Blood.
It's easy to get caught up in the details. 
And ignore our own...

In their amber bottles
Some plastic
With our names
Some glass
With names from the past
like Coors and Anheuser-Busch

Like Yann Martel said in Life of Pi
upside down nooses hanging from our necks
Ties. Suits. And work
That never stops. 
Even as the noose
gets tighter. 
We're strangling ourselves
and convincing ourselves
we look good doing it.

The population
of guns is more than that of people
in this country.
It's growing three times faster.
Appropriate. Indicative. 
Of values. 
And we're surprised?
Innocent minorities. 
Those who are sworn to protect them.
Toddlers who think they are toys.
Our enemies.
For a moment.
And resurrect.
But we need those zombies.
Because we need more guns.

Our soul
is dying.
Our breath
is fading.
The cuts of racism, fear, and hate
have not
quite healed
ignoring them
won't heal
them either.
It's safer to ignore the pain.
But we do live
in the land of the brave.

A father took his life and a bit of mine was taken as well. 
And a bit of yours was taken as well.

And yours and yours and yours and yours and yours and yours and yours.

Every pill.
Every noose.
Every gun. 
Every drop of blood. 

And yours and yours and yours and yours and yours and yours and yours.

Someone once said it.
Life runs you
You run life. 

Together. Let's
take ours



i watched this ant.