sane

so many

so many gone

in times of desperation

and courage

like they were never

there at all.

golden wisps of people

come and gone

I even miss the ones I

set loose myself.

they’re gone in a flash

of fire and lightning

a poof of smoke

a bit of decayed dust

from the knuckle of a

cadaver too long in

the grave.

I miss them sometimes

I miss their joy

I miss their laughter

I miss their hateful words

or the prayers they

recited for me to

lose my madness

but I’m still crazy

and they’re all gone

so I guess I win

if I had it to all over

again, I guess I’d

do it the same way.

for some friends are sent as

punishment.