The writings of Oddpoet

Daron died on Sat­ur­day
Could have been Fri­day
Regard­less
God Slammed fucked a big old fash­ion Hole
In the Earth
You know where they put dead people

No one under­stands it a bit
She was happy
Loved by all
Well adjusted

Except

Daron was a four­teen year old sui­cide
And we don’t much like sui­cides
Rains on our happy parade
Makes us uncom­fort­able
Makes us think
And feel things we don’t like much
That dark road too many among us walk
Much eas­ier to pre­tend it’s not there
Gives most of us the Heebie-jeebies

Oh every­one say­ing the right things
wring­ing hands
Cry­ing when appro­pri­ate
Heart­felt sor­row I’m sure

But there are too many
Who will blame her
Hate her
For doing that to them
For being so weak

Maybe her Sun ran out of bat­ter­ies
Maybe dark­ness ruled her day
Maybe her weather was rainy and gloomy all the time
Maybe her heart was being crushed
By some­thing not one of us could ever define

Not much to be done about it now

Oh the fuck­wad Grief coun­selors
Will be all over the place
Talk­ing bout the five steps
Like they know some­thing we don’t

Some times there are just no answers
And fuck if we don’t like answers
We like death neat and tidy
Can­cer
Car acci­dent
War
Some­thing we can under­stand
We wear our pink rib­bons for Breast Can­cer
Car lights on dur­ing the day for Drunk dri­ving deaths
Pros­trate aware­ness month
tes­tic­u­lar can­cer aware­ness week

But we missed the one for Daron
Didn’t we.
We let her down
Every sin­gle fuck­ing one of us.

Mean­while
The bod­ies keep pil­ing up
File it under

“We don’t much like to talk about it”

And close that door real fuck­ing fast

This entry was posted on Wednesday, November 17th, 2010 at 5:32 pm and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.