No more than flesh and blood,

thoughts and assumptions.

Born to a loving mother,

an interested father.

School tried to poisoned you,

friends aplenty in fair weather.

Where now you've gone, 

we all shall follow soon enough.

You only just made it,

almost late for your own funeral.

You became nothing more,

nothing less,

to me,

to him.

How does it feel,

hilt slick and warm?

Did I give you reason,

how do you justify it,

late at night when you lie alone?

Perhaps my trust I gave too readily,

my love you dashed at want.