a famous death

It was supposed to be beautiful.

Lying in the bed until one night, you were just gone and your body weighed .3 oz less, because a part of you left, and they proved it. They scientifically proved it.

It was supposed to be perfect, like a good dream that never ended. Like an old man who looked forward to the future with his aging wife and his children around his bed, thanking him for his colorful life. We were supposed to hold your hand until the end and then look back and smile at all your jokes and look up and say how much we knew you were there and how much you would never leave. There would be tears and hugs and more tears but good tears. Like salt that somehow heals wounds with a sting that curdles blood.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

It was all over and everyone knew. I think they always wanted it this way, with the cameras and the flashes and the bullet that started a hundred wars. Wars of hate and wars of change and wars to fight other wars. Because you could never imagine making an impact without the gunshot,

screaming,
echoing,
ceasing

Are you happy now?

So many angry people, so many unjustified parents, so much terror. Stop now, ban this, make a law against that. This isn't the problem, that didn't cause it.

          you just wanted the fame

You tried out for the second grade play when you were seven. You acted your best and you gave it your all but they made you the tree in the background.

A tree with no opinion,
                  no part,
                  no influence.

Maybe that was when it started
                     
                   you just wanted the fame

And now, you can have it. You can have that nasty recognition that Mrs. Robertson or Smith or Almond never gave to you as a second grader. You can have the nation looking at your body that weighs .3 less and you can smile at your disgusting handiwork that gives you permission to look down and smirk with  pride. This doesn't change anything. Your news was only screams of spilled souls on the front page of every newspaper and you were the subject of every tweet and facebook and instagram and pinterest post for months.

You didn't understand the beauty of passing,
                                                       leaving,
                                                       cherishing.

                                         you just wanted the fame.