we could have saved him,
if words were not mere backdrops
to city life half-heard
through tinny white buds.
we could have saved him,
if we’d listened,
really listened and heard and understood,
the line upon line of angst missed.
we could have saved him,
if we’d asked
but they were just lyrics scrawled:
a lifelong suicide note.
we could have saved him,
if we’d connected art and artist:
put two and two together
and made five, just in case.
we could have saved him,
if that was the kind of thing we did
but decay sells papers
and we’ve all got bills to pay.
we could’ve saved him,
if we hadn’t fetishised world fame
and shone bright beams on meagre souls
and made them dance by spotlight.
we could’ve saved him
any of us
and now we wonder why he sleeps
and we cannot.