A note posted for my teachers:

I don’t know what to tell you except I was 
always troubled.  Please, do your best to 
inspire those who are not so different from 
me.  I hope your profession reaches beyond 
instruction and sources itself in empathy.

Last is posted a note for society:

What a tragedy, you so indifferently 
subvert.  You are like me, masked, always 
masking the pain. Yet, you perpetrate and 
potentiate ideas that only add to the 
suffering.  Such a long history of your 
apathy leads me to believe you cannot 
change. You refuse to adopt compassion.  
You will always divide the soul into an 
unremarkable part.  You will never be 
whole.  You will never truly be inclined 
towards an intrinsic equality.

        The mask is still glued to me.  The screen projects a funeral scene and I remind myself I should give my mother a presentable open casket of me.  I see her weeping and weeping.  She looks down at my handsome face, resting.  She runs her fingers through my hair, combing it back.  She looks at my body, well dressed .  “He is too young,” she thinks.  “He looks so vital, so alive, like he’s just sleeping.” She coos softly to herself.  There is no solace nor sense of closure on her face, just grief wrenching and wrenching.  Her eyes are bloodshot and hollowed by black circles.  They are sunk, drowning, resisting, exhaustively resisting.  My friends, the rest of my family, my boss, my coworkers and Her all pass secondly, my mother foregrounding all, and they all grieve for my mother; they vicariously grieve for me.  I am uncertain if the speeches will be longer or shorter for the looming questionability of what I could have been.  I know one person will play the song I wrote, the one about finding strength in friends and how those that pass on give away a piece of themselves, a shattered pieces of a diamond, a permanent piece.
        The mask is slipping.  Behind it, each day, I have wept so much that it has stopped sticking.  I search for the opportunities where I can readjust it.  I sometimes flee public places when it slides