the grace for his ghost
how he’d taste till he’d roast
not one to ask, one to know
the way you’re supposed to close a hole
perhaps i climb and please when i shouldn’t
but he used words when he couldn’t
said he would when he wouldn’t
threw and spoke, used words without knees
not one to bask in the pain of another
i’ll dwell and ask myself, but laugh because well
we know i use words that i shouldn’t
emotions like i’m the bullet
but a shot can only go so far
arms can only feel so warm
his hair will soon gray
i’ll remember the day and our stumble
the “maybe one day,” but here, in this moment
i’d rather live for now than before and not a revolving door
monday night