As a grown man
I have to steal
what you could
never give,
and make
what you
couldn't live.
I collect
and acquire
and mold with
fire, and
send it through
my charcoal filter.
What I'm left with,
a mellow sting
sipped before
the end
of a
bittersweet
fling.
About my dad who was killed in a car accident when i was twelve.
It's not out of anger but of the realization of having to learn from other men in my life.