Don’t
Do It
It’s done; it’s over… he threw the game.
His play, the only one he could think of,
Was made in shivering desperation
And reeked of pungent finality.
In five days’ time, they followed their noses
And found him naked, cold, and bloated.
He ended his plot in this cosmic tale
But so hasty, was he, to close the book,
That I fear he skipped the epilogue.
For those loved, abandoned few who remained
Were human wreckage in his wake.
Left to pick up the pieces; to wonder why…
They picked apart the final years;
They told themselves it was all their fault.
They should have done it differently…
The signs were there; they should have known…
Should have reached out… Should have saved him…
He, who was all but unsavable;
So unready to stand and save himself.
Lacking courage; absent of hope…
Their efforts would have gone to waste.
He made his choice; a choice others face…
Take a breath; think it through;
Consider the world outside
of yourself.
Don’t needlessly
shorten your own tale
For there are no
rewrites.
