He tripped through life
But his highs were exquisite
Beautiful at heart
And stubborn by nature
He could draw stories
And paint from his imagination
Maybe this is not real
That would make it easier to explain
The things he endured
And the toxicity the world gave him
Maybe he dreams of poetry

It really hurts too
Because everything feels so slow
Until the moment has passed
And we live for those moments
And I know those moments are now in the past
For we have parted our separate ways