The Book I Will Never Write.

Brother.

I remember when I was five, I fell and hurt myself. Brother picked me up and carried me inside. He smiled and asked if I was okay. Brother.

I remember when Brother made me very angry once. He played the song Sorry by Buckcherry. I knew it was sincere. Brother.

I remember when Brother would bring me chips everyday after school. Sometimes his friends would laugh at him because he was so close to his sister. Brother.

But now
it seems as if Brother is fading away.
His best friend is the poison
and his home is the smoke.
His hobby is the high
and his habit is the toke.
He isn't around
he's crumpling away
addicted to the pain
that is keeping him away.
Brother.
But I hope one day
I can see you again
without the addiction
the pain
or the guilt
and see him the way I remember him:
my brother.