Between The Lines

(somewhere between 2000-2004)
I wrote this after hearing about a suicide.


I left it up to you
          to explain
          my departure;
          to conjecture
the reason I left.

I didn't give a reason,
          didn't have a reason;
          reasoned that I had
          too many reasons;
but you can sort it out.

My life is out of control
          and I can't control
          what I can't control
          (but I'm in control).
I leave it to you to handle what's left:

What's left of my head
          on this page or the pillow.
          Think of me always this way—
          that I've left what was left
of my life too fearful or fed up or fouled up
          to live.