He was loved by pastors
And drug addicts on the sidewalks
He was loved by his parents
And all his ex girlfriends,
He was loved by Jesus
And he was loved by ****** too.

His mother worries
Satan wanted him in hell
Just as much as God wanted
Him in heaven.

I wonder what his funeral
Looked like
I wonder what irony God had placed
Inside his heart that day.
Battle drug addiction for two, three, five years.
Get clean.
Then get run over by your own snowmachine.

Let your friend find it idling on top of you.
Let your mother cry over you
One
Last
Time.
Because she’s saying “he will be loved, he will be missed.”
But she’s loved him and missed him for years.

I think of you every now and then,
How it felt to kiss you
And how it felt to be near you.
I think of how you’d message me
Out of the blue, and how you’d always say
“You were my first love, Lindsey.”
Hell, most of my first poems written on here
Are about how much I loved you.

And now I’ll never know.
Now I’ll never get to say anything to you
Ever again.

Sometimes when I think of you it’s almost like a buzz going on in my pocket.
Like you’re messaging me late
And asking how I’m doing.

I’m doing fine, Jacob, I’m doing just fine.