Whiskey Icarus Poem by Alan Bruflodt

You always flew a little too close to the sun
Saw your heart as a prize not worth being won
You never let good people in your life
You were always afraid you'd cause them strife
Your friends weren't there when you needed them most
You think they're the reason that you're a ghost
But really it's in that choice you made
On that cold mid March day
When you came down and went back home
Others were tripping while you were alone
Found a pill bottle and swallowed it whole
Prayed there was no god to take your soul
It wasn't giving up or letting go
The pain was just too much to let it show