This is a poem I wrote a few years ago. I had a very dear friend of mine end her own life with a 9mm wound to the chest. I use my poetry and writing to try to tell stories. This one is a story of how easy it is to forget that the little things do in fact matter, and forgetting them can have dire consequences. Stop and smell the roses folks, preferrably with a friend, for you never know when the chance will come again.

Amusing bit, as I'm writing this comment, Rolling Stones's "Paint it Black" started playing. ⌐.⌐ I think my computer is possessed.