I'm as drunk as you were
The night you drove your Corolla into that street light
So excuse any spelling errors that might occur.

I should wait until I'm sober
But when I'm sober I won't have the courage to write this anymore.
I can't quite feel my hands across the keyboard.

So maybe this won't end up a poem.
And maybe you won't end up alive at the end.
But I leave azaleas on your grave on Wednesdays.

It's just like back in time, in 2009
Sometime in January, stoking the coals of a fireplace,
Playing Gears of War 2 and exploding a lambent Brumak.

I didn't know you were drunk then.
I had an alcoholic for a brother and didn't know.
And a father, and an uncle, and two grandparents.

It was in my blood
And growing up, I was scared,
Because you were proof of how bad I could've gotten.

You could've called me.

December 19th, 2018, you could've called me.
But you were cut off at one bar and drove to another,
And when they cut you off they drove you home.

I won't have the courage to finish this.

I'll save it when I'm as drunk as you were
When your Corolla took a lightpost out.
Seven thousand in property damage, at least.

I won't have the courage to finish this.

Like you didn't have the courage to finish the night.
Like you didn't have the courage to finish a life.
You couldn't even last a lifetime.

But I'm as drunk as you were.
December 19th, 2018.
Maybe you passed the torch onto me.

I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing anymore
Without you, things seem just a little bit dimmer.
And I pretend things are okay,
And I pretend things are okay.

I can't define pentameter.
You used to know what it meant.
You told me when my poems were ****** up.

I can't define pentameter
Your name was Trevor
I think I might be falling apart.

I wonder what was the last thing that went through your head
Other than the shattered glass of a windshield
I wonder what was the last thing that went through your head when you left.

I wonder what was the last thing the bartender thought
When he watched you get into your car.
I wonder what the last thing the paramedics thought when they declared you gone.

I remember back to 2009 and I wonder if you knew we beat Gears.
The next day, you asked me if I was ready to continue.
I don't think you knew.

So now here I am, five months later, drunk in the mirror,
Praying Mom doesn't wake up to find me,
Practicing slam poetry with my own reflection,

And I wonder what the last thing that went through your head was,
And I remember sirens, and cop cars, and ambulances, and you were almost home,
And I try to make up characters to take your place in stories.

I name the characters Austin, and Brian, and Joshua, and Mike.
I name them anything to help distance what I write about them to what you were.
But your name was Trevor. I remember your name.

I remember everything about you.
I remember you stumbling home at 2 AM
I remember you lighting cigarettes outside the house hoping I wouldn't see.

Your name was Trevor.
And no matter what I write into my stupid ******* stories at six in the morning
You're gone.

Your name was Trevor
And no matter how hard I try, squinting through drunken tears at six in the morning
You're gone.

Your name was Trevor
And no matter what happens
I'll miss you until I'm dead next to you.

And I know you're watching me from Heaven,
But I don't actually think you made it too Heaven.
I don't think you were quite the Saint I like to pretend.

Because your name was Trevor
And you died at 4:32 AM, December 19th, 2018,
Drunk as ****, headfirst into a street lamp.

And you were almost, almost, almost,
As drunk as I am tonight,
Playing back memories of you and I in 2009.

Your name was Trevor
I hope you made it to Heaven.
Your name was Trevor.