You know, I never really came to terms with death. Until today when I saw that name engraved on that silver metal name plate on top of the gray shining casket. I kept reassuring myself that he was still alive in that casket, still breathing as if he were just sleeping and all of us laughing at all of the memories we were talking about amongst ourselves. But when that casket finally shut, I realized that it was serious. That this 24 year old man was going to be buried 6 feet under the ground as soon as we walked out of that chapel. That this 24 year old man would not get to live the rest of his long life ahead of him, the journey that he was so anxious and excited to complete. This 24 year old, spectacular, talented man, whom painted the most beautiful creations I have ever seen come out of anyone I know just for all of that to come to a complete stop.

This is where I begin to question, why would you write that poem in your journal? I mean, I know you were somewhat of a writer, but how did you know that this was going to happen. As if you knew we were all going to be heart broken that you were just going to fade off into another world and leave us forever. As if you knew that you would "bid us farewell" like you said in your poem. I never want to find out why this happened, I never want to know why you did this to everybody, all I want to know is what compelled you to write that poem. What came over you to pick that out of your head and chicken scratch that in your journal? I can't wait until one day, I can hopefully join you, wherever you are that is, I'm not saying it's heaven I'm not saying it's Hell and I'm not saying it's purgatory. What I'm saying is, nobody knows for sure where we go when we die, nobody knows if we just lie there in that casket and that's that, or our ashes just stand still in that urn in the living room, nobody knows until it happens to you. So, Michael, wherever you are, I want you to know that one day I will be there, and I want you to ready yourself because I'm going to cry and I'm going to laugh and I'm going to hug you as hard as I possibly can and then I'm going to be angry, because I loved you very much and so did everyone else I know and you weren't supposed to have your mother bury you. You were supposed to bury her. You were too young and too much of a unique person to go like this, and I hope that one day you'll visit us in some form and let us all know that we should grieve no more, because until then, I will continue.

You're a waste of time
A waste of space
A waste of my breath.

You're invisible
sitting at the table with your empty laughs.
If you don't care, then neither do I.

So long to the good days.

I imagine it to be extraordinary, the way that we're acting silly under that tree with the naked leaves, through the lomo camera dancing in our sundresses and our rolled up jeans jumping into the lake on the count of three. I can see the white teeth all three of us just smiling contrasting against the blue sky. For the way that all of this is happening, I keep remembering that sooner or later at this time again this year, we're all saying goodbye.

Don't make fun of my night out.

I just want to crawl up inside of you and never let go
I just want to swing on all of the organs that resemble the strings I pulled to get inside
There's nothing that can say that I haven't been here before
but there's everything that can think that I wasn't.
I don't care if you don't believe me
because I am my own self inside of this shell and it's gonna take steel to crack me open
because I will never crawl out for I am comfortable inside my own film.
I'm swimming around in the intestinal juice and I see thoughts that are being thrown away
because you don't think that they'll be good enough to say.
You can say them to me, I'm ten thousand leagues under the sea.
There's nothing that can say that I haven't been here before,
but there's everything that can think that I wasn't.

I'm gonna run away to the place I like the most
under you heart where I can sit my ass down on your lungs and listen to you breathe.
I want to be the one that floats to your throat when you take the deep inhale of the fresh air that I need to stay alive.
I'll float up inside and tickle your eyes and sit and watch all the changing colors going from one end to the other.
I want to meet all my sisters and brothers and talk amongst ourselves with the organs and the wide open ears to hear us.
Outsiders don't know what it's like, to be inside of somebody that likes me and everyone by my side.
There's nothing that can say that I haven't been here before,
but there's everything that can think that I wasn't.

Listening to Feel Good Inc. whilst taking a shit
is the best thing I've done all day.
Possibly the best thing I'll do this entire month.

There's a lot of things I would just like to say to a selected group of people
but I don't know who those people are yet, and they don't know who I am either.
The light is shining in my eyeballs, burning the film over my eyes until I scream out in pain.
Everything is out to hurt me, everything is out to get me and steal me.
I'm going to be shackled in the basement with nothing else to live for other than my daily serving of bread and water.
That smell of myself rotting away into the walls with the burgundy crusted blood sweeping against my cream colored sweater.
I want to say something but I can't break the stitching that is sewing my lips shut.
I don't know what the words mean, what I'm bound to say.
I wonder who they are.
I wonder who I am.