hey man,
it's me.
your son.

it's okay if you forgot.
i'm just that scratch ticket,
that you never won.
just a ***** scab,
that you never even thought about picking at.

oh, the introductions, i almost forgot.
i was going to ask you,
what your name was, and whatnot.
but that'd take more patience than i've got.

i'm done waiting,
for a half-assed misfit *******,
who doesn't know how to commit to his kid.
i don't know if i'll ever be able to forgive you,
or any of the things that you never ****** did.

but hey man,
that's just my piece,
and i've only got one.
so write back.

sincerely,

your son.

when the worst gets the best of me,
the rest of me gets better first.

the champagne starts to taste like ash
as you fast crash, burn and start to rain like dust and soot.
quick, backtrack and rehash where it went wrong.
the vents, did they pop? did they bleed? did they clot?
plunder your gut, misplace your trust and start to let it rot.

i can't help but think
that you were my missing puzzle piece
nothing lasts, i'll stop to drink
as i wash the blood
from my bathroom sink

i can't help but dream
every night, about some kind of love
drowning in red mud
choking on words once mumbled

i can't help but wish
that i never happened
to you
or you to me
so tonight i'll drink, dream,
rinse, repeat

until my memories lapse
as i collapse, shimmer and sheen
in a tiled room, never dimmer
than within my dreams

riding highs and moral fences,
wasting their senses,
until they're senseless.

remember when we taught each other to think?
about how emotions were hex-codes,
and my midnight mood was light pink?
we talked on until our metaphors started to unfold,
and with every word told we let our shared emotions sink in,
until we felt the need to drink them back into a deep sleep again.