The Note

I read it in the paper,
Like everyone else,
At the age of seventeen,
Not even an adult.

What a travesty,
Why did it have to be
This way?
Why did it have to be?

All that was left,
A noose and a note,
And small drops of blood
Coming from your severed throat.

You have no idea
How many you hurt;
How many you
Made cry.

You have no idea
How your mother must feel;
How your father and sister
Both cried.

But you don't even care now
That you're gone and
No one can say anything
To hurt you now.

You don't care about
The people you hurt,
The people who cried
Just for you; all for you.

In your final writing
You said 'I love you'
To your family,
To your friends.

But you have no idea
How much you hurt them.