Walking at Midnight on New Year's Eve

The sparks fly upwards into the sky, 
scintillating lights that change hue midair
like galvanized chameleons. 

I wonder about the others 
who are aching as I am, 
who own a sadness not assuaged 
by mere external merriment. 

Perhaps at this very minute, some 
are going so far as to end it all. 
Bullets kissing skulls, blades 
on wrists. Tiny pills scattered 
from bottles. 

I sit in the grass and feel 
the weight of their leaving. 
I know they have passed. 
It is almost as if 
they speak to me. 

Their voices are like 
the aftermath of the fireworks, 
a troubling stillness 
accompanied by the slight scent 
of sulfur.