Poetic rant & Songs

*A late suicide note,

Hi.
Its me,
You might know me as Lee
Or Sage,
Or maybe Marshall.
I don't know. I don't like being called real names. They all seem too real.
I guess its going to be hard to sign this note too, my most sincere apologies, to you, who may be faltering at this news.
If your reading this; Luna is dead. Nonexistent, dancing in heaven.
She was "beautiful", and "smart". Hah.
If only you knew her like I did. Though we only shared a body for a small amount of time, I still find her every now and then. Keeping watch. Making sure I don't slip up, like I'm just some beast in a box. But I don't mind. I won.
It seems like I'm depression, doesn't it? Well fuck you, this isn't just some poem. You don't need to know, who I am. I'm telling you: Luna's dead.
I can write her an apology, and I will, but not now. Right now I'm telling you on what I missed out on when SHE was here.
I never got to tell my grandfather, my only friend until I was eleven-though he died when I was six.
I never got to hold his hand and tell him that "Lee's here grandpa, Lee's here for you" I never got to hug him and tell him I wanted to grow up and marry a beautiful woman- I never got to see the pain in his eyes as I told him that I was sticking legal needles in me when I was older and I was SO excited for it it.
Because Luna was there.
The "Right" one was there,
Like we were some set, one backup and one better, me the backup and her the star- Luna Star, is dead.
She was dazzling, they say.
Long dark brown hair, frowning and numb, sad and unable to feel sad, some mix-up of emotion and told she was getting a concoction to kill her. It was a friendship. Something more. Another poem labeled " The first..." And the minute Luna sat with her she knew she had a choice: die or be killed- But why, oh why would she die when I could live.
I guess she was smart.
And now, for an apology.
Dear "Luna",
Hey.
Its me again. I'm sorry I took your happily ever after with a good, rich husband and two children and a dog.
I've kissed a boy. I've wanted to kiss a girl. I want to apologize to you. But I'm not sure I should. I know if I do I'll doubt myself because unlike you, I'm not stone. I get hurt by people, and by myself. I can only hope I'll never be a wall again. How about we go over what I took?
Number one: I took your long, dark hair and cut it off happily, showing my ears and showing off my brain: now bright blue and pink, the dark chocolate brown you worked so hard for is gone, down the drain
Number two: your see-through skin, never seen by the light of day and though I still love the darkness its hard to see rainbows in the dark. I still have tan lines from going to pride, along with new freckles that dust my cheeks, Mr.imperfect calling them cute was just short of a compliment.
Number three: I took your shy girl ascetic and replaced it with a dark and bright contrast of introvert and rainbow, clawing out your sad eyes and tattooing a happier look in the crevices.
Number four: I took your unpunctured ears, now there's three metal bars and two scars, yet not a single one my wrist. I'm planning on more, I want seven or more, two gaged just enough so you can see through. I want transparent.
Transparent so I never have to write another suicide note.