When I mentioned suicide,
they asked if I had thought of it often,
so when I died,
it was the first culprit that had come to mind,
the only offender
even if death at my own hand was not,
in fact,
the cause,
the talk of it would be all they would recall,
there were headlines and disillusions,
and mistruths about the whole thing,
items in the papers that were unable to be tamed
even my devotees,
my successors,
loyal though they were,
even they doubted me now,
my decency had been overshadowed by an ominous idea I had proposed,
once,
and only once,
it seems it was possible to stain sensibility,
even this notion I thought would have died long before me
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