I'm sorry I can't pay you a decent tribute
without sounding
selfish and small and
misguided.
You were better than that
as far as I know
as far as I've been able to see
from the center of my self destroying radius
through the distance I've kept up toward most
out of necessity
and unaware that you were probably made
out of tougher, lighter, stuff
that wouldn't mind a perpetual meltdown's heat.
I'm sorry you're gone and
I'm sorry I can't pay you a decent tribute
without sounding
selfish and small and
misguided.
I am selfish and small and
bent and the times we didn't have are
screaming in my ears and
I hate you
for leaving so soon and
I hate me
for not knowing
if I should have come closer or
if I was, to your nearest friends, more than close enough
