We used to talk, just you and me,
Our words would flow, like a gentle sea.
But now the silence stretches wide,
A distant gap I cannot hide.
You found a friend, someone new,
And suddenly, our talks are few.
I miss the way we used to share,
Our stories, dreams, without a care.
I wonder if you think of me,
Or if our bond is meant to be.
I reach out, but the echo's faint,
A friendship fading, like soft paint.
I hope you're happy, that's what's true,
But still, I miss the 'me and you.'
If we're drifting, if we're done,
I'll cherish the moments when we were one.
My suicide had been two years in the making when I decided not to follow through at the last minute.
Over the past decade, I've written poems, books, short stories, fanfiction and hundreds of thousands of words, but nothing felt complete. This collection of selected works was meant to be my final offering- the only thing ready for posthumous publication.
Blood Orange Periphery includes poems written in the months preceding the end-that-didn't-happen, some of my best teenage scribbles, and journal entries that chronicle the transition from death-planning, to recalibrating life.