He uses songs and lyrics others have written to voice how he feels;
to make it real.
I write my own in verse and poem, lyrics and rhymes.
They aren't always pretty and rarely shine;
but they are mine.

I thought that I was fine, that I was alright.
After all, I've been here before.
Been there,
Done that,
Got the t-shirt,
So I should be okay, right?

Anger, grief, shame and fear are never that easy though;
I should have known...

Yet what happened isn't what's on repeat in my mind.
No, what's on a loop inside my brain is a name;
Always the same.
A name that carries with it so much joy, pain and peace.
I know...
I know that if I talked to him that I would stop reeling.
Yet I can't.
Can't call or message, besides, what would I say?
"I'm sorry, I'm broken again?"

Maybe I would tell him the truth, the whole horrid truth about that day;
I know he'd agree to listen and keep the fear and pain at bay,
that was his way.
I know.
I know that he would make it easier despite not being his burden to bare.
I can't call or message the dead,
So I guess I'll just keep repeating his name inside my head.
Repeat it until I'm no longer broken,
Or until I join the life that was stolen - Dead.