The world we have been given isn’t fair.
You gave us all a chance
but never yourself.
Beautiful people die, and terrible people lead
(They’ll live until they’re octogenarians,
but you’re buried six feet under with a service
you planned from the crucifix to the pulpit.)
This life we have been given is short.
Your home was the highway.
You drifted from home to home,
but you never took your shoes off.
If you cried out, I must have never heard you.
If you begged for me to save you, I must have been
numb to the pain, numb to the loss, numb to your cries.
I never wanted things to end this way.
You six feet under and me mourning
for the life I did not know you lead.