I am stained with your colour;
Royal purple and blinding white.
I am smothered by your scent;
Marlboro cigarettes and cheap alcohol.
I am lost in your words;
Mellifluous syllables and sage proverbs.

You must be a sorcerer, for I have been bewitched.
You roam through my mind, casting hexes as you go;
I see you walk with that charming little gait of yours.
The memory of your face is hypnotising, infatuating;
Perhaps I have been cursed, but I hope this necromancy lasts forever.

I
Want
To write
A poem
About things I know
Numbers and mathematics but
People don't like maths
It's boring
It's just
Hard
Work.

There's poetry in scars.
Do not romanticise them, they do not deserve such compliments, but
There's a story there.

Often I stare at my own and I remember
What it was that drove me to put them there
What forced me to guitily indulge in my habit.

Scars fade but they never disappear.
They're a melancholy reminder of my narrative.
They are the promise of a sequel.

On the 1st of February, I learned that
My stepbrother committed suicide during the previous night.
It is currently the 3rd of February, and
I'm still in shock. He was just 22.

I wish I could have helped you when you were alive,
But even pills and therapy weren't enough.
We knew you were struggling, but we didn't
Realise how bad it was until it was too late.

I can't process what happened without writing it down.
I feel like I'm in a dream.
I think I'll feel this way for a long time.
But that's okay. We all have different ways of coping.

Time still unwaveringly, furiously, steadily treks on.
It makes sense. Your death means nothing to the businessman on a different continent
But still it feels
wrong.

One day we'll come to terms with your death.
One day life will feel normal again.
We will deal with it accordingly.
But it will take some time.

We love you, Aaron. We'll think of you every time we close our eyes.

It wasn't the course material, I understand it still,
But I'm having frightening thoughts about ropes and knives and pills.

Counselling doesn't mitigate my anxiety or depression,
Although I've been to many different appointments in succession.

I've driven away my friends by withdrawing into myself,
I've lost half my teenage years, forgotten like the books upon my shelf.

I remember writing fiction, creating lands of mirror-men,
Today I can't imagine any unique storylines to pen.

I'm just a useless ******* dropout and that's all I'll ever be,
I used to get straight A's and now I barely scrape a C.