Can I be Frank?

Or Mary, or Jane? Or Maryjane?

Anyone but now or here or how.

I don't like sorrow. And it's all I know, and there is no reason really.

Even from the ancient days when I was very young the world made me ache.

Simplicity is my own tragedy. A full moon. A stark bird. A winter sunset. Sorrow in my bones.

Perhaps I am a piece of it and not supposed to be a person at all.

Maybe I'm just missing.

Can I be the leaves and the sun and the moon and the laughing and the squeaking swings?

Can I be many? I don't like one.

And then...

She died.

And while she died she listened to the world that happened all around her.

And she was glad she'd died. Because the world was just fine and didn't need her after all.

Is anything really necessary? Or are we all just one moment from a passing thought?

She died and was a passing thought.

Bleak and back to black

Freaking dark.
How did I get here?
I can't feel my toes.
I remember flying.
I was special. Just like everyone else.
It doesn't matter now. Anyhow.