on this day.

we are tomorrow's yesterday's news.

xcvii. WE ARE TOMORROW'S YESTERDAY'S NEWS.

black casket

brown
glossed over
or matte

it all looked the same when your parents stood in the funeral home downtown picking out which one you would sleep in after spending numerous amounts of time arguing over whether they wanted to keep the ashes of their first born or leave long stemmed roses on top of your cold covered body before burying you six feet under. your mother left earlier than your father, cried her eyes bloodshot red, left her heart in the one they chose, wine matte with white cushion, one of the cheaper ones they could afford. they invited only thirty people to the burial, i being on of them, i put on a black dress, redoing my makeup several times for the mascara never lasted in the battle against my cries. they asked me to speak, but i couldn't find the strength, not after seeing your lifeless body, waiting for you to wake up like your mother had when she found you. inflicted gunshot wound to the head, done with the shotgun your father kept underneath his bed. she screamed, asked why, how, didn't understand how something like this could happen.

i did.

the warning signs were right in front of me. like how in science class, you had accidentally cut your arm with the blade meant to split open the frog. or how you laughed every time you told me how much you wanted to die. you spent all of lunch in the bathroom, walking out with swollen eyes, always complaining about how sore your throat was, asking me for a mint before departing for class. when we went on that hike with those old bikes of mine, you told me how your parents received a foreclosure paper, how your anxiety was worse than it had ever been, how you didn't know how you were going to afford your next prescription. you stood on top of the mountain, you were as quiet as ever, standing on top of the bench most people rested on. you moved your arms up by your side and you allowed your rib cage to expand until it hurt. you laughed, the most uncomfortable laugh i had ever heard, and you said how great it would be if the wind blew just right, sending you tumbling down the cliff. how easy it would be for you to jump. i didn't know how to respond, i never did, so silence was your only comfort.

guilt ate me alive for weeks. you were reaching out for help with words and actions and everything you could possibly think of, but i kept my eyes closed, never listening to what you had said. i didn't deserve to have you as a friend. i didn't deserve you even a little bit.

and may i add, i'm quite jealous; wish it were me in the casket.

or at least,
it should've been.