Ode to Elliott Smith

Miss Misery misses you,
a fond farewell, she says,
never distort this reality,
that you have left this world sad and lonely.

In a corridor,
she found herself lost,
and close to death,
near-summer angel in the snow.

A question mark hangs on every tree branch;
Between the bars, space seemed odd;
Color bars now are always black-blue-gray,
Everything means nothing to her,
bleeding white from lost of love.

Johnny Walker Reds,
hued a different hue,
In my head, I tell myself I am wrong,
but I wasn't, and you were not wrong either,
so now there's nothing to do, but it's alright.

Miss Misery would rather see you gone,
than see you suffer.
And I do, too.