I knew a girl in high school who got cancer our senior year, she died a few months ago. She was only 20. We we're super close but we did talk a lot and hang out in class. This is just my way of finally giving some words on it.
I stood in front of his grave, six feet below the dirt laid my Angel.
It wasn't right, just a few month ago he was up here, alive, dancing, singing, bothering people with the way he dressed and acted. But he didn't care, and that was Angel. Now he's in the ground, rotting.
It's not right. When a person kills themselves they're choosing to die, they want to die. Angel was robbed, he fought like hell up until the last second. He didn't want to die. He was robbed, robbed of all the things he didn't do, and all the years he should have lived, he was only 21. Twenty-one years old and he has to die while complete sacks of shit get to live to be eighty or even a hundred years old. It's not fair.
It's not right. It's not right he had to be buried on his favorite holiday. It's not right that his parents didn't show to the funeral. It's not right that his so called friends barely visited him in the hospital because they couldn't watch him die. How fucking selfish. They couldn't even be there for him because it upset them too much. They aren't the ones on their death bed having to get help for every task: brushing your teeth, going to the bathroom, eating, sitting up. No, they get to go home and pretend that it isn't happening.
He never asked for this. How could anyone ask for this? How could you ask to be raped by some crazy junkie in a back alley on your way home, only to get HIV from them. Then live for three years with your health slowly declining but ten month before you die you meet your soul mate. But isn't that how it always happens.
I miss you Angel, everyday. But I never stopped listening to you, as hard as it is I get up every day and I go on and live. I live, and I live everyday as happy as I can. I live because you can't, and that's not right.