Poetry

I don't want to kill myself with a gun
Because to me that would seem petty
Nor do I want to slit my wrists like an 'emo' - emotional fake, I say-
I don't want to give you the satisfaction that you so secretly want

I can see it in your face. I can smell your fear
Of " Will it be me first, or her; doing what should have been done long ago"
Let's face it. Everyone gets lost in there own version of reality.

I'm not going to pretend that I was depressed
Because I know that the outcome I presumed would be irrational
It would be insane to think that you would be happy because you got what you desired.

I didn't kill myself. I didn't die unexpectedly.
I just disappeared  where I can see you and everything you do.
Because you set me free, I can see the happiness you so greedily hid.