I think it's stupid that you're gone, and the stars are still around. Every night I can look to the stupid sky and see the shimmering light from too many stupid years ago but I can't see you.
I think it's stupid that I told someone how angry this made me, and they were stupid enough to say, "maybe they're up there too." I've never made anyone feel that stupid with a look before.
I think it's stupid that you're gone but the stupid voicemail you left me saying, "I love you" is still around and you're nowhere to be found.
I think it's stupid that there are still phone booths, crayons and wite-out on this stupid paradoxical planet, but not something people still want around.
I think it's stupid that...
I just think it's so stupid that I let you tell me that you'd always be here for me, because I knew I was stupid enough to believe you if I ever became stupid enough to let you say it to me.
I think it's stupid that I let you drive to me that night knowing how dangerous the stupid black ice was going to be to your stupid blue car.
I think it's stupid that you loved me enough, to be stupid enough to drive here in the first place.
But really, ultimately,  I think it's just so **** stupid that I was stupid enough to watch them bury you under six-feet of stupid Earth, and not say goodbye.




I'm sorry I'm stupid.

You asked me my name in your first remark
We sat on opposite ends of a question mark
You were dashing - made me pause,
me, this independent clause
standing alone,
I made sense on my own
But I answered you anyway.

Ellipses.

Now you are the verb in my heart’s contraction
I am the subject and you are the action
An Interrogative with a Declarative reaction
An Exclamatory and then an Imperative attraction

Ellipses.

Your lips ease
Me, the direct object of your affection,
but never sentenced to an apostrophe’s possession
perhaps more true- a plural “s” suggestion
and the excitement behind an exclamation point’s inflection

The semi-colon understands
We can be on our own, but we want to stand
together
where our letters
aren’t fetters,
but the typesetter’s
better measure
of linguistic pleasure.

We communicate through metaphors and similes
Like the birds and the bees
We speak across homophone lines
to keep a census of our senses at all times
Because words said aloud have allowed
us to find meaning behind the utterance of sound-
mere words and phrases
jumping off of pages
into brain and heart and soul
when the parts become a whole

And with the syntax, punctuation, grammar, and usage
I’m a hopeless semantic always trying to ****** it
Language- yours I understand through the myriad.
Words can’t capture you. Period.

When I was a little kid
My friends and I would play
At cowboys and Indians
In the barn with forts of hay.
We crafted guns from sticks
We found about the farm
And though we shot each other
We managed to come to no harm.

Bang, bang, bang! I got you!
No you didn’t, you missed!
The bullet whizzed by me!
You can’t see me in the mist!

Of course, if we were Indians
The same rules held true there.
You never managed to **** us
We never took your hair.
But, we knew we were villains
Because cowboys were king.
We didn’t even question it.
It was that sort of thing.

Bang, bang, bang. I got you!
Cowboys don’t ever cry.
We twist and dodge you redskins
So, don’t even bother to try.

Holding invisible reins, we rode
On our noble painted steeds.
We pretended it was the old West
Here in our playground of weeds.
Some of us had play weapons
Santa had brought to the lucky
But forcing improvisation only
Made us a lot more plucky.

Bang, bang, bang. I shot you.
You ***** lowdown rustler.
Oh, we thought of every dodge.
What young, clever hustlers.

My cigarette seems
to be lasting forever.
Or maybe, it’s my ninth
******* one.
Honestly,
I don’t even ******* know
anymore.

All I know
is that you said you loved me
and didn’t ******* mean it.
You said you loved me
and went on to ‘love’
someone else.
So **** quickly too.

I sit here day and night.
My eyes bloodshot from staring
at a computer screen
because everything else
in this hell hole of a room
reminds me of you.

The dreamcatcher you painted on my wall.
It’s still there.
I ******* hate it,
but can’t seem to paint over it.

I found a pair of your
******* socks
under the couch.
You’re everywhere and
I ******* hate it.

You ruined me,
and you show no remorse.
You killed me,
and got away with ******.

I gave my all
for nothing in return.

Best part is knowing now,
that you’re miserable.

And as miserable as I
may seem.
I’m content.
I’m relaxed.
And as hard as it may be
to say,
I’m happier now.
What I hate about it,
is that you made me this way.

I have a picture in
my wallet.
Sometimes it makes me
smile and
sometimes it makes me cry.

You were only 5
holding you’re infant brother.
You looked so ******’
happy.

Now, you’re infant brother
is in his 20’s
drinking his pain away.
Trying to do the
impossible.
Trying to stick around
and push through the *******
which is life.

I find myself thinking about it.
Thinking how easy it could be.
To do what you did,
To leave this world on my own terms.

But after you left,
the vacancy signs
above that white gate
illuminated their no’s.

It’s not my time.
I keep telling myself that.
I need to stick around for Mom.
She’s so lost.
So’s Dad, yet he wouldn’t admit it.

My life would be so much different
with you in it.
I could just imagine the trouble we
would get into.
The crazy things we would do,
and the amazing lessons
you would have taught me.

Remember that time
You were playing catch with
a football?
You weren’t paying attention
where you were running
and ran right into a car.
Your knee was so ******
and when I asked you if you were okay,
all you had to say was
“*******, Jake.”
What I would do to hear that again.

But you’re gone now,
the world ***** now,
I’m all alone now,
Tears roll down my face
so frequently now.

I’m waiting for the No’s
on those illuminated Vacancy signs
to dim.
So I can follow you
See you once again.
Hug you like I never did.

I miss you,
I love you.
One day, big brother,
One day.