Roadside Garbage (because it needed a name)

Why am I here?
This is no longer a place for poetry,
This is a place for my insatiable cynicism, rage and misery.
This is not poetry, this is not real life, this is the foam that spills from my head when I boil over.

Shes dead,
dead.
Did it herself apparently.
I don't know if there was a note.
I don't know if there was a definite reason.

(to which was all say "well there must have been something")
I don't know her.
I've seen her face.
Seen it before today that is.
In person, though not in conversation.
Not in conversation with me anyways.
I know her sister.
Vaguely.
and now shes dead.

Fuck.

What are my accomplishments worth,
That 75 on Chemistry,
That 83 on Calc,

Garbage.

and now shes dead.

I always say I'm so busy,
and I am,
I say I try really hard,
and I do,
I think I'm a good person,
and I'm not,

or perhaps I am and people just aren't human anymore.

I hate it.
She killed herself and I am disgusted.
With her circle of influential people,
With myself,
With her.

I could have spent every moment of my life saving her.
I needed to save her,
And I didn't.
I should spend every moment of my life saving you,
and I know you're probably not reading this,
but I know you.
Or at least some of you.
I should be finding you and fixing you and saving you.
But I wont.
I'm too busy.
God, its almost like my affairs are life and death.
How else could I put them so far above the lives of other people.

And even now I fall prey to the infection that allowed this to happen,
I, like so many, throw people away like roadside garbage.
And no matter how often I see them I am reluctant to pick them up and take them to the place they belong.
Even now its all about me.

Drama Queen.

and by asserting it,
by bringing it to attention,
I have only further confirmed it.

I want to do so much but I wont because I am lazy and scared.

I'm busy doing the thing I love instead of the thing I need to do.

We are all in the wrong unless we are the dying with no one helping us.

My tuition could save hundreds of lives.

And shes dead and I should have stopped it.

If you are going to do the same thing just call me
289 253 0035
I`m Jayden McLean, and I give a fuck,

just not enough to come find you,

but thats more than most,
and it sickens me.

If I don`t answer then call 905 692 9515, and just tell them why you`re calling, they`re my family. I don`t know if they care as much as I do, but tell them about this page, tell them that
"I demand you help this person on the phone, right now they are more important than anything, they are more important than anything you are doing, thinking, reading, planning to do. You need to pretend they were me, if I called you like this what would you do. Good, now do that."

It's all about me.
I'm trying to make myself feel better.
She's dead and I'm offended this was allowed to happen.

She's dead... and I'm offended?
How asinine is that?
I'm offended.

I'm garbage.
BUT WHY AM I TALKING ABOUT ME AGAIN!

A girl is dead and I don't give a fuck because all that matters to me is me!

Wow, I never thought I would be normal.
Fuck this.

This place.
This feeling.
This world.
This story.
This death, this hate, this loathing, this misery, this failure this anger this heartbreak this sadness this love this society this people thisthis this this this thing I think morality is this code I think we should all follow which says that THIS. this should never happen.

I would give anything to save you Emily.
I have never met you, but, short of another's life, I would give anything.

And i didn't give enough of a ....
I didn't find you.
I'm so so sorry.

I treated you like roadside garbage, like I treat everyone else.

And now you're dead.
And I can do nothing.
Except write this self indulgent epitaph which says nearly nothing about you.

I'm sorry.

But that just doesn't cut it does it.

It doesn't bring you back.

It doesn't help your family.

It doesn't even let the world know that this is so wrong.

That this is all wrong.

All it does is say that I'm all wrong, using you as an example.

You are the example to inductively prove we are all wrong.

maybe you didn't know the problem of induction, I learned it in that worthless philosophy class of mine.

You can't prove uniformity of nature,

can't prove the future will be like the past.

That gives me hope.

Your life can't have ended on a happy or peaceful note, so if nothing else,
If there is something beyond this shithole we're stuck in,
I hope you now have the chance to take a break and rest,
Not have to deal with this bullshit anymore,

I hope it's peaceful where you are Emily Jerome.

And God if you're out there take all the peace from my life and give it to her now. If that's allowed.

I accept full responsability for her death.
I wan't even trying to save her.

I never met you Emily, but I miss you so much already.

You left my life abruptly today, at the same moment you entered it. And you left a little hole.

I've learned to make them little.

I'm so sorry I failed you.

I don't want to be forgiven.
I cried a little for you.
I know it will never be enough,
never enough for me even if it is enough for you.

I'm so so sorry for your loss.

How lives are spent.

I don’t know who I am.
I have morals but I have no way to know if I obey those morals, in fact I know in many cases I don’t.
I am a killer by proxy. I am a slaver by proxy.
I am an accomplice to crimes unimaginable.
I have not stepped in, or perhaps stepped out of my lazy and gluttonous wallow.
How can I consider myself a good person when everyday thousands die and I do nothing to stop it.
How can I find enjoyment when so many others bathe in misery, in pain.
I say I care but do I?
I miss the days when I didn’t know.
The days where my every movement was not against my moral compass.
I miss magic.
I miss those days when I could believe in something worthwhile, when every happy day wasn’t fraught with pessimism.
Those days when my mind didn’t have to suppress my heart.
Those days when I lived an unexamined life.
For my every examination leads to cruelty, greed and ignorance.
I could feed starving children. I believe it takes only a dollar a day.
This term I’ve wasted more than six thousand needed meals.
My physics, the numbers I move around a page, have no doubt cost starving children their lives.
I’ve spent lives. Not dollars, lives.
Every math assignment is written in blood.
I’m worried it will one day just begin to drip from my hands.
I am the privileged. I am the strong.
I kill the weak, the sick, the predetermined undeserving.
Every introspection is a doorway to misery.
If I cared, I would be steeped in the feeling.
I am ashamed to say that I am not, I am happy, and so I am guilty.
And yet my execution would do nothing.
I once spoke to a teacher, a mentor of mine.
He said that really, most of us are replaceable.
We are expendable.
I expend many every day.
I argued. Said that the Albert Einstein’s are out there and not easily replaced without a cost of time before discoveries, before advances.
I realize that they expended many on their way to enlightenment.
One farmer can tend many crops.
Maybe one in every two should die. That way the survivors could live in happiness untainted by the fact that their every action cost lives.
And yet I know there would still be killers, still be cruelty, greed, and ignorance.

So I wonder, can enlightenment, education, and happiness, even fleeting, come only at the cost of lives?
Are my actions and joys really worth that much?

The worst is, if I spend all these lives, learn all this information and never ever ever manage to improve anything in a lasting way, what was my, what was their, lives worth?

Nothing?

What were all of these words worth?

Nothing.