You stupid sonofabitch. I hope you burn less than you did when you were here, and that maybe you finally caught up with the monster you were chasing. We still drink to you on days like this, Glasses raised to the day you showed up, Broken bottle on the back porch to forget the day you left. Oh, and pay your mother a visit sometime, she misses you so. She's been saving lives in your name for years now, but the kids are still dropping like flies. Tell her it's okay, that she's done her part.
I guess I just miss you. That heart of gold is still the talk of the town, but I remember the black fingers wrapped around it much better, And I want you to know that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't save you. So tonight I'll drink Not to the ashes on the mantel or the flowers on the grave. But to you. Happy birthday, Matt. Wherever you are.
Not much of a poem, but my old friend Matt would've turned 22 the other day. Unfortunately a ****** overdose took him at 19.
Don't wait until it's too late to help the ones you love.