I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

And Did the World Scream?

As the sun rose, and your grave came discovered, Did the World scream at your passing? Little child who grew too fast, Stopped growing. And did the world scream? No. Only a faint few shed you a tear, Formed you a salty sea. no. A handful at best did remember you, Gave you immortality. Did the world scream for you child? It did not for anyone, It does not for you.

I’m kinda digging on this poem. It’s so dark - a pessimistic view of suicidal results. Bravo.