Looks like the comforting hug from him, before depression marked him with its big, looming "X"
Feels like falling from the top of the towering tree, hitting the ground with an echoing, bone crushing thunk, each night that I dream of his end
Sounds like the morbid eulogy resonating through the empty space of the church
Tastes like strong couch syrup, forcing its way down my throat, guiltily hoping to catch a break from the undulant, crushing wave of his memories
Smells like his sisters tears, wetting my shirt and screaming at the absence of him
Reminds me of his blood, splattered on the train tracks that cold, lonely, winter night
It happened when I heard he killed himself, right before Christmas Day, ripping us all to pieces, screaming his name in the middle of the night, wishing for one last moment to see his smile again
