I’m sorry my friend.

I wanted to help you

but hurt you instead.

The least I can say is

I’m sorry my friend.

The most I can do is

tell you I’m here,

no matter the distance

though waters aren’t clear,

it’s times like these—

a balloon in the air—

to let yourself go completely

and live not in fear.

You’re worth more than you know

I know this my friend

so follow your heart, and

try to understand.

I wanted to help you

but hurt you instead.

The least I can say is

I’m sorry my friend.

sometimes pigs do fly

I have past the point of no return

where apologies have lost there meaning

Where no explanation is needed

because hell has frozen over, and I swear

I saw a pig fly the other night

but perhaps that was just my reflection

bopping down Magnolia Boulevard

watching taillights fade

and counting them like crows

One, then two, and four and eight

Oh I thought, what a burden it is to sleep

and what a wonder it is to wake.

I made a phone call that night too

and said some terrible things

that by way of the universe

I guess I just needed to say.

I am that guy sometimes — not all —

but sometimes pigs do fly.

So this is who I am

I won’t apologize

Good luck out there

If you stop judging it all,

it’s actually quite wonderful.

Dance with the Devil at Noon.

Mother used to say,
“don’t talk to strangers now!”

And father used to say,
“don’t be a follower you hear me!”

What a different world
we live in today.

Mother I’m sorry says the boy.
Father I’m sorry, he crosses his heart.

But to make it in this
Brave New World

I must dance with the devil at noon.

I’m still dealing with your ghost.

Please stop reading if you’ve heard this before.

It’s been 15 years since.

And I’m still holding onto a ghost.

15 god damn years.

And I’m still crying in a coffee shop.

I wasn’t even 15.

And you sure as hell weren’t a Boy Scout,

so who tied the noose?

I want to know what type of knot you used.

It’s been 15 years.

And I want answers.

Answers that I’ll never receive.

I want an apology.

You son-of-a-bitch.

How embarrassed you must have been.

I wasn’t even 15.

And they don’t even know the half of it.

And here I am again.

Wasting my energy on this endless sadness.

Because you couldn’t hack it.

Towards the end they say you were over medicated.

Well it’s been 15 years.

And it’s probably the reason I don’t even like to take aspirin.

It’s just that over 15 years it’s been hard to explain.

Like when you come right out and say it.

He.  Committed.  Suicide.

Kids used to awkwardly laugh at first and then realize I wasn’t lying.

And suddenly everyone’s sorry.

Suddenly I have to act sad.

Or act like it’s fine.

Nobody wants to see you break down in front of them.

Nobody wants to know your whole life story.

15 god damn years and I’m blubbering like a baby.

Screaming at the top of my lungs – drunk.

So if you’ve heard this before please stop reading.

Because I’m sure I’ve said it.

I’m as sure as I was 15 years ago.

Lost.

Because you don’t get custody after biting someone on the face.

And I don’t get answers.

I don’t get an apology.

Even after 15 years.

I’m still dealing with your ghost.