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.