batsose

The last time I saw you
there was no pain,
nothing seemed hidden behind the smiles
what was it you couldn't talk about?

For years, preachin' to those kids
"never shoot alone,"
they found you in the bathroom,
fuckin' Narcan in your bag
slumped over,
the blue faded from your eyes
aganst all advice
alone...

The thing that gets me the most
is not the way you died
but what in myself I hate to look at
the rotten spoiled kid
the impenetrable middle finger
high in air at everyone
and my own life.
sitting in the corner of my mind
behnd the dressor,
a poster of Mike Muir over his head
waiting, sure one day I might give up

Did you give up?
or was it just an accident
were you impervious to your own advice?
or did your fuck-you-kid get the best of you?
questions with no answers
and I turn to clean my own room
push the dressor aside
and find out what that kid really wants...