My Funeral

Self inflicted
His perdition
Should I?
Could I?

My gaze swept over the room one last time as I remembered exactly what happened. I had seen it with my very own eyes and I was still having a hard time believing it. How could someone blow their brains out in front of an entire audience? It was traumatizing, seeing as this person had been my best friend, but what made it a thousand times worse was that the video was up on youtube. Thousands, if not millions, of people could queue the video of a tormented boy as he cried out for help.

It finally hit me. The weight of the situation came crashing down on my shoulders and I dropped to my knees. The tears were streaming down my cheeks. The room smelled of death and decay and it was all my best friend. The only person I had ever cared about. The only person that had ever cared about me. He had thought he was alone and because of that thought he left me truly alone. I didn't have anyone to run to. I didn't have anything to run home to.

I wrapped my arms around myself as the event played through my mind agian.

I'm feeling the weight of the world
And it's crushing me
I'm feeling the weight of everyday life
And it's crushing me

Finally, the tears had dried. Hours had passed and no one had come to find me. No one had cared that it was well past curfew and I was only sixteen. I was alone in this world and no one cared. No one...

I pushed myself to my feet and stared at the blood stained wall. He was so smart. He was so beautiful. He was so different...

It was because he was different that he was picked on. It was because he was so smart. He was so fragile from his life where everyone beat him. He was beaten down and no one took a moment to find out why. His life was always hard. The boy had to find a job to support his dead beat father and take care of his sisters. He had more on his plate than anyone should have at sixteen. He had too much to do and no one, no one, took the time to help him. He always wore raggedy clothes because he didn't have the money to get anything more than old clothes from thrift stores.

I found myself stepping over to the wall and reaching out to the crimson splotches that were starting to turn brown, "Kory," his name rested on my lips as the sob caught in my throat.

I'm beaten down again
I belong to them
Beaten down again
I've failed you

I had passed shock. I had passed grief. I was numb. My best friend and only companion was speckled on the wall in front of me. The last bit of him that I would ever see was staining the wall under my hand. I knew I should have felt more at that point, but after all that had happened I was tired of feeling everything. I was done. Maybe joining him wouldn't be such a bad thing.

I looked down at the floor to see where the blood had pooled. The floor was still damp and gave under my weight. I should have been horrified by that fact, but I didn't care. I just didn't care anymore.

My hand rested on my back jean pocket and my fingers wrapped around the three inch switchblade that I always kept with me. It was a gift from Kory. He always thought I was beautiful and needed some form of protection when he wasn't around. I had taken to carrying it with me at all times because it felt like he was with me when I had it.

But as I pulled the cold metal out of my pocket I felt the hole where he should have been. I didn't feel him with me. I felt him being torn from me. It was hard to think about, but it still crossed my mind. He was gone and soon enough I would be with him again.

They say freak
When you're singled out
The red
It filters through

I flicked the blade open and tested the blade on my thumb as I always did when I opened the blade. It was just as sharp as it always was. It was just as sharp as Kory had insisted me to keep it. It was strange. The very weapon that he had given me to prolong my life was going to be the very thing that ended it.

I pushed my sleeve back and stared at my pale skin. I had never, never, had the desire to cut myself so the flesh was unmarred. It was beautiful and made everything seem that much more poetic. I put the tip of the blade to the flesh of the underside of my wrist.

I should have felt something as the blade bit into my flesh, but there was nothing. I felt nothing as the blood welled up in a perfect straight line down my arm. I felt my strength leeching from my body, but I somehow found the strength to repeat the process and hold my arms out to watch as my blood mixed with what was left of Kory's blood.

"I'm coming, Kory," the words slipped from my lips as all my strength faded and I collapsed. I was dying and no one cared. No one was going to care. That was my life. Kory made the show. People knew him. People cared about his death. But my death was just going to whisper by.

Cross the line
Fade to black
Hold the candle to the flame
And light the way

To My Funeral...