Knock down your feeble tower of grudges,
They cause opponents no harm.
Resentment, no more than maming yourself
And expecting the latter to lose an arm.

It is so shameful how we spend life
Asleep at the wheel
Making less than a conscious attempt
To break free from our situation.

The day you left this Earth
Your exceptional and passionate life was taken
I heard your heart hit the floor
And I look up to the sky
Expecting to see you soaring.

You lived so loudly
And left me star struck.
So what is it supposed to feel like
When you are gone?
Even now, I will pass something
Do a certain activity
Hear a certain song, a phrase
And think about you.

Has it been five months already?
That's almost half a year
And for some reason, that kills me.
Maybe I've been stuck in September
Or somewhat comatose in my own skin.
The shell I've been dying to shed for just about forever.

Have you heard my screams?
The day I got the call
The day I passed out
The endless days of panic attacks
Stuck between those foreboding cycles
Of endless days and sleepless nights.

I do not expect you to be watching over me.
You should be guarding
Your siblings
Your girlfriend
Your parents.
I hope you brought the party to heaven
And God is lucky to have you as his guest.

Sometimes, I still hear your laugh
See your smile
And I am ever so grateful that
I was lucky enough to know you
And I will keep your memory alive
By really living
And not just being on standby.

Someday
He will forget
The bottle
And his
Reflection
Will make his insides
Scream

Shattered winds
Of vanished youth
The life drained
Definitively
From his very flesh
Pale and vacant
Void of
Everything good
He once had
In total awe
Due to the liquid’s
Draining
Power

Hollow
But sinking
Numb
But hurting

Weakness stands
At the door to where he
Once resided
It’s come for its
Fix
Thirsting for it
Burning under the
Control of
Its Addiction

But
He is
Nowhere
To be found
Lost
Somewhere else
Consumed
By something
Far more
Intoxicating

behind the creaky old door,
in the middle of the hall
lay a shelf of forgotten things
the old board games,
a box full of mittens,
nana's yellow coat,
and that bright red sweater.

i had never seen that sweater,
i'd remember if i had
the threads are burning scarlet
and it fit me like a charm.

the moment i laid eyes on it
i knew that it was mine
its coarse wool clung to my body
like a kid clings to its mom
i wrapped the cloth around me
and knew that i was home.

i ran into grandma's bedroom
to show her my new find
only to see a weary look
and hear the catch in her worn voice
she said that the sweater was her father's
he wore it like a champ
his muscled limbs and
his pale skin
left it tight around his arms
and she looked at me once over
and then nodded her head
she said, that it fit me almost perfectly
and that it should be mine, instead.

so i walk these halls
in my bright red sweater
carrying my family history
and the smell of his cologne
to them it's just a fashion statement
but i know it's so much more
this sweater is the link
across generations,
across time,
to my long gone grandfather
who i never got to know.

the sweater is no longer
on the shelf of forgotten things
because my grandfather is gone
but this sweater proves
that he will never be forgotten.

I was never vindictive towards you,
Yet somehow, I wish I had been.
I saw you for seven grueling years
After the attack.
Endured every flashback, every pang of anxiety.
I would not let you get alone with me, however.
I guess in that way,
I was smart enough to get by.

Crying in my pillow
Screaming at the walls
Lashing out on others
But mostly at myself.
Yet I never once wished to harm you.
Some days I wish to want to.
But I don't.
I can't.
And I hate myself for it.

You had Asberger syndrome
And I was a child.
So who is accountable here?
I guess it is just easier to take this pain on by myself.

My parents could have sheltered me,
I suppose.
But whenever my brain creeps into that region
Of blaming them even a little bit
I feel like a *******.
They did not know, could not have known
Could they?

"*******!"
I'll belt, but it's never directed at you
Like it should be.
I say it to myself, and after my voice breaks
And I fall to my knees, sobbing
The rest goes something like
"You could have stopped it.
What the hell were you thinking?
This is your fault."

Intellectually?
I know I'm not to blame.
I was seven,
How could I have known better?

But emotionally?
All of that logic goes out the window.
I beat the crap out of myself for it.
I should have protected myself
Should have been protected
And I guess, somehow
I should have been able to control that.
I still need that control, I crave it
And I still need somebody to blame.