I envy you in your death –

of the ability your ability not to choose.

You take life as it comes and flees –

I wish I could walk in your shoes.


I'm seeking a silent solace

in a world that keeps buzzing on.

You turn a back to the dark abyss

while I gaze in and wonder what I'm doing wrong.


We turn sad eyes on the sick, the poor

as they work endlessly to exist, to merely be.

And as I struggle not to throw goodness away,

you turn eyes of twisted sympathy toward me.


This death is a cycle we cannot change

no matter how you might wish to delay.

Often you cling to fame and bitter immortality

just to push the darkness away.


Then by accident, by another's design,

millions move beyond the veil.

A knife in the side, a twist and fall,

you cling to life, but fail.


How do I explain this urge of mine

to willingly give up a sky so blue?

Words merge with incessant calculations –

just me grinning to imitate you.


At night I shiver at the notion

that you might finally see

through this charade and lock me away

for my own good, throwing away the key.


For the thought of choice makes you shiver

in horror and in sorrow,

and no matter how those like me suffer

you want to see us smile tomorrow.


I envy you in your death –

with my cellophane smiles and desperation

tucked neatly away on a shelf.

For in this world I can neither live

nor die with myself.