Too Late

Last night, a voicemail on my machine,
the bi-minute beeping kept invading my sleep,
until finally, I abandoned my dreams to see
the dreadful message left for me.
"My friend, by the time you hear my voice
through your phone, black and cold against your cheek,
I'll be floating down the river
like the pieces of trees we used to watch
and make believe they were boats on their way to sea.
Oh maybe I'll make it before I sink,
I'd so like a gravesite Atlantic, asleep forever in the deep.

"I just need you to know, I need to do this alone,
but I love you so much, you've been my friend through it all,
and tonight as gravity blows my hair back,
I'll be thinking of the times we'd leap from the rocks
to the river down beneath, just to swim,
just to live, but that's not what I'm calling about tonight.

"I cannot explain, but this thinking, ever-hidden,
won't just go away unless I make it,
please don't feel guilty, I doubt that you could
have made it any better, No, I doubt you could,
though as I climb this bridge, struck by the wind,
I wish I would have given you a chance,
just a chance, but

that time has passed.
These words are my last.

I cannot explain,


but these words are my last."