What a great unhappy waste
of muscle mass and jawline
Impetus in a mess
is what begs question of these confines
If things were not coming apart
in the ways we all saw under the surface
would our brave little boy
have robbed himself of his life toward purpose
as misguided as this?

Twenty three years staring into mirrors
with two **** brown globes of lightning
filling up with self deprecation
is a waste?

Somehow I knew you'd say that
and the news wrapped in words wrapped in plastic
glances like the spear tip to plate armor
aimed and stabbed from a distance too great

Colored nails, black or pink, or **** and gnarled
Painted face, totally, or face too **** and concave
Chest heaving open or covered from the world
Downtown or eating cereal in sweats from a mixing
bowl

On your couch

Be the bullet for all of us who took one
Be the blade for those whose voices drained by knife
And be the voice just by living
Even if hidden,
My Love,
You're real!