It was a sunny day that I saw you
Sun glistened off the tears that pooled in the corners of my eyes.
Your beauty brought this on.
A being of such want
Challenges the sun itself

And I know those amber eyes with the gold flecks are holding the real sun at bay.
A mind as bright as the beauty that wraps around.

Entwine our minds with the feel of skin.
Your appearance terrifies me with an overworked heart
And your mind challenges me in a way that I am not smart enough to say.
Maybe one day.

A man who has wronged another
This same man, loses his brother
This wrong came before the loss
Was this the cause?

A regretted breach of privacy
Robbed the pride from me
Robbed the friends from me
Since then, no happiness.

I apologize for what I have done
But even if it wasn't the cause
I just want my friend back.
My brother back.

I have this constant dream in which I am asking everyone in my life to punch me in the face
I know I can take the pain
But it’s the idea of being hurt that always brings supporters
Punching myself in the face does not achieve the same thing.
If you feel that I did you wrong, punch me in the face.
I know I can take a beating more than I can take myself.

My body is repairable, at least to a certain extent.
But the hits of those i have wronged are not repairable, that is why they are hitting me
I don’t want to **** myself, I just want pain
Just to feel what, I have made others feel.
Understanding is everything.

But physical pain also blocks the emotion
Punch me in the face
So I don't have to deal with what I did
Hurt me, the way I feel I hurt you.
Please,
Someone do it, or I will do it myself.

There becomes a time when you realize that your poetry is better than your fiction
The deaths in your life, sap your creativity.
With all dead friends, what can blossom?
Bad decisions and body parts
Like the flesh from a tree, positivity follows suit
But the arms of which carry you are wrecked
Because they are the arms of the grieved
The beautiful, belligerent, alcohol tolerant lives that you have left behind
There are your friends, that die like a hard rain.
But they are just as refreshing and reflect just as much sunlight.
But they die just the same
Suns die, stars burn out
Just as you realize that the hoped for importance of your writing was never as important as your friend

Blue and black
Mixed with red and tin
The pen always rips through tear soaked paper
Tears always bring tin
Tin always brings tears

For every time that you died
I've killed my liver ten fold
I know and hope I was your best friend
But anxiety and depression have nothing but questions
But I know I was almost your last call

That last call is entirely burden and curse
Any positivity is pushed down by desired silence
I'm sorry I did not answer
But am I sorry to you or your family?
I am sorry to myself

Ghosts are not real, I haunt myself
The phone I did not answer, haunts me
The grief of the world, or maybe
Just the coppery taste of blood in my beer, haunts me.
I write, drink, and act in your memory because you are forever my friend.

I wrote previously about the electronic implications on the written word
But the smoothness of this pen upon paper has made me neutral on the subject
It's insanely intoxicating when your words flow onto the paper just as they do from your mind
Uninterrupted
But, death has a way of bringing you back to reality
A birthday, In which the birth boy has passed
Twenty four red balloons, caressed gently by the wind as they are carried beautifully skyward.
Red of passion
Red of love
Because twenty four is infinite
Also is the love and the friends you left behind
But we love you,
I love you
And we will forever follow you
Upon these rising currents
Like those twenty four red balloons.