things to come

All this time I’ve been mourning his suicide.
Our loss of him.
His loss of us.
But just now
Eating blueberries
Watching
David Hasselhoff
Grimacing
While he compares apples and oranges
On America's Got Talent
I had an epiphany.
Maybe he could see
That no more good was going to come
From his existence.
Life is no yonge street massage parlour.
There would be no happy ending.
His mind was too mixed up
He couldn’t live well in this world
He had only to look forward to
Medication
Hospitalization
Prison
(figuratively or literally)
Dirty looks on the street
Impatience from friends, thinking
Get it together already.
And from the people who love him most,
Unconditionally,
There would be only
Pain.
Chronic pain.
No one could see these
things to come
And want to stick around.
Most would, though
Out of inertia alone
But not him.
And so for the first time
In the decade he’s been dead,
Instead of sadness, regret, or pity
I give him my admiration
For what it's worth.
My guess is it would be
More than he got from most.