“You were always the
Kid we never worried for.
You didn’t get in
Trouble like your bros.”
Maybe if you had worried,
You’d have seen the shit
That happened to me.
But I took it home and locked
It up, slow poison.

“You were always the
Kid we never worried for.
You didn’t get in
Trouble like your bros.”
Maybe if you had worried,
You’d have seen the shit
That happened to me.
But I took it home and locked
It up, slow poison.
I wanted to catch
Your conscience by telling you
Honestly about
The pain you caused me
But you just tightened your grip
On my throat, grinning.
Better plan a quick
Funeral because you are
Fucking dead to me.
It only hurts when I
Breathe, or hope, or believe
In something again.
When you quit drinking,
Started running, and you were
Meditating for
Hours every day,
We just all thought you were gay
Or suicidal.
Your encouragement
Is Vaseline soaked gauze on
My sucking chest wound.
You have to give up.
Hope is what is killing you.
It will never change.
It will always hurt
Like this. Nothing will improve it.
Release it and breathe.
Galloping horse am
I, my blood streaming down my
Flanks, never stopping.
If I write not these
Words, they creep under my skin.
I shudder and squirm.