I woke up sadder than most days
the sun outside as hot bulbs on my ceiling fan;
somewhere a funeral is taking place as
this train takes me north;
this sadness just as selfish as
yelling at a god or
popping bricks into a cranium
to feel less guilt;
suicide is not a sin –
it’s a yearning
for space to spread a pair of wings
we often times forget about.
Everyone who agrees with me is already gone.