Our shaking hands,
See they weren't made for  
cigarettes
And all these words, flowing through our heads
Weren't meant to let us
sleep


We were only 16
Scarred, but beautiful
Like broken things sometimes are
Rarely are
Young, nicotine stains
Lungs full of words we drowned in
Choked on
Burying friends we had grown up with

How sad
How sad

A year later

Another funeral
We all look older
Wrinkles on our foreheads
But were only seventeen
Too young for crows feet
Unmistakable
Unshakable
Grief painted in our eyes
And we couldn't even look at each other
A year later, shaking hands
Same nicotine stained fingers
On our baby hands as we threw the dirt
On his casket

Another year
*Another friend