I haven't been to your grave and I don't know if I can find it. I hope you can forgive me. I heard you died when I was a kid, but it wasn't really you. You died later and it took forever and I wished it would have gone better but wishes wished fishes. And I don't want to sit on the green grass and tell you my problems. You'd tell me to shut the fuck up. You'd tell me to be tough. And yeah. I saw you get set on fire and I tried to do the same. They stabbed you so I let them stab me. And I got your body but I didn't get your will. How did you keep coming back for more shit to eat every single day? You started with shit, raining from heaven like piss off a bridge, and you came back and you slept with russians and crashed through christmas trees even though you never had a christmas and the truth is my problems don't mean shit to anyone. But maybe if you were here you'd punch me and make me laugh. Your hair would flip up and you'd get that big smile and you'd tell a dirty joke and you'd make me laugh through the haze and we'd go get chicken wings up in West Pittsburgh, which is nowhere near Pittsburgh. We'd go shoot at rats or plates or work under a car even though I had no clue how the fuck to fix it. My life is a car. It's got no wheels and people stabbed the seats and I don't wear no fucking seatbelt any more. I want to go through the windshield. I want to be a driver's ed movie. But not really. I don't tell anyone how I really feel. I lie. I lie all the time. I tell everybody it's cool. But I can't ever lie to you. And I couldn't ever lie to you, either.

Photo - S
Words - S