Felt you in my fingertips,
saw through your facade.
In a time so disconcerting,
that normalcy was odd.
If tears were blood,
I’d have dried up long ago.
In a place I’d not remember,
in a town I didn’t know.
Heaven waits for no one.
Although this may not be a pretty flowery story, it’s mine to tell. sighs
I had a friend at one point in my life, the true yin to my yan or yang or whatever the kids are saying now. (-; We were inseparable, carbon copies of one another’s souls. At least it looked like that behind the lenses of my rose tinted glasses, felt like that through the haze of our drug induced religion.
He was the flame to my candle regardless of how corny that sounds, and when he died I truly believe a part of me died as well. The guilt which resulted consumed my every thought and action. It suddenly became my fault he OD’d because I had chosen to sober up, I had cut the string the had for so long operated as umbilical cord and permission slip.
So, yeah, there’s the explanation I cannot do justice with.
I will say that guilt is a disgusting state of being, I promise you that. Since the time that I originally wrote it, it has been edited several times, this is the final edit. I believe I have finally condensed the anger and sorrow into what I originally intended it to be, a good-bye without much to’do like he would have wanted.
R.I.P. Milo I love ya, Otis