In April 2009, you left this world

to me. And at the time, I didn't know

who I wanted

to be. The sadness crept up my leg,

a snake, threatening to swallow

me whole.

It was morphine

that did it, siphoning the air from your brain like

a hose. Did you know it could kill you?

I imagine a pharmacist never sat you down -

counting each pill gingerly over a counter,

pointing to some number - "if you take this,

you will stroke, as your loved ones surround you -

like useless, wet blankets.

Your only communication will be

blinking, you will be a camera shutter of who you once

were."

And I knew, thinking of you

lying there, and the others that have laid there -

I must be the one to tell the world.