In the Cemetary

Pencil is bitten, tooth marks marring, but the paper is still empty. The clock shows quarter to one, I need to leave at three, what to write, what to say. He was a friend, but not close, I never really knew him, and his death came as a shock. What to say, what to say? Clock shows quarter after. Pressure is on. Quickly, think of something. Why me, why must I? Too late to pick someone else, must say the right thing to comfort the horrified family. But in shock, brain gone awry, is not the best condition, and the clock shows quarter to three. Swoop up notes, empty speech, run to the cemetery. In shock, they stand there Wearing black, with blank faces Suicide unseen