I used to be around more often. Happy, the clown to talk with. Hopeful. Out of problems and smoking pounds of chronic with dope fiends. That was awesome.
Then I noticed it became a problem. Binging for days on blotters. Trip, and say it’s for knowledge, like that’s something that can actually be accomplished.
We’d ash weed on the carpet when it was you, me, and Ashley in the apartment. Damn, this past week’s been retarded. See, she had me with “Good morning”, and nothing else was important. Yeah, you must’ve felt ignored, but I still loved you, god damn it. Sure, I wasn’t there for you more, but you wasn’t any better OR I would’ve been there for sure.
Don’t you remember when you “borrowed” my car? Next morning, wake up, and it’s parked in the yard. You didn’t even remember because you were hopped up on charge. You told me when I asked you, “Where the fuck are my doors?”
Okay. That’s exaggeration.
We used to fight when we were bored. Half the time we were busted up with black eyes and bloody knuckles, but we’d act like it wasn’t something.
And my mama used to whoop our asses every time we’d come home.
“Where have ya’ll been!? I’ve been calling on the phone!”
(“I didn’t know it was three o’clock.”)
Yeah,
the time, it sure goes. It’s been years since I’ve seen you last, and I never will again. Let’s just bask and reminisce. We were all we ever had as kids.
Yeah,
sad is Zen.
You’re gone.
So am I.
She’s just over there rolling her eyes.
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