We met in our freshman year gym class. That sounds like the making of a romantic comedy, right? We both know that that's not how this will end.

I'm watching a single broken thread
Of a spider web
Bellow in the sunlight
Of my bedroom.
The spider keeps crawling
Up his broken thread but
Keeps hopelessly
falling back to the bottom.
I named the spider Charles,
Cause it sounds like
One of your many nicknames for me.

I'm trying to make Charles' web into
A metaphor for you.
Are you broken like the string,
Are you doomed like Charles,
A modern day Sisyphus?
I have an English degree.
I can make anything a metaphor.

I've known you for 11 years now; how many of them have you been dead for? I'm tired of you being dead. Can't you just make fun of my hair again? Remember how good we were at algebra?

I miss you not being dead. I drove you to your best friend's funeral. I hardly knew that kid. My only sustaining image of him is the memory of him breaking down a door, drunk, because he wanted to **** one of my friends.

But the truth is is that I sobbed harder than anyone at his ******* hopeless funeral.
You told me you were gonna go out like him.
And because I looked down
into that cheap (bargain deal) coffin,
Which never should have been
An open casket, and
Into your friend's half-lid
Blue tinged eyes,
And suddenly,
it wasn't him.
It was you,
My sweet, old friend.