Black ink.

I liked being in your room. 

It was very messy but, the mess was a space filled with clothes that you've looked sexy in. A collage of buttons we undid, of zips we unzipped. 

"There's a lighter in the kitchen"
 
I look at your noticeboard,
a testament to lyrical intelligence
and growing up on Tetris, 

Friendships and show tickets- 
DOOM, Scroob, Badu, D'Angelo, Tempest. 

All your friends are smiling by themselves
They smile smiles parents love, 
smiles parents put on cards. 
I stare into their eyes for answers. 
If the blank ink for pupils could
hold another darkness. 

They all went the same way, you all met in the same place.


In the bottom corner there's a holiday pic of you and your sister.
She's since got taller, you've stopped getting thinner

I look at your smile and it resembles the others
so much I sit away from the board till you return.

I think about the dagger. I think about the waltz.

Delicate fingers delicately fold the rizla
with all the care a mother rocks her newborn.

The grinder a life raft in the ocean that’s your thigh.

You look so good now
You’re doing so good now. 

Yeah. You say yeah. 
Inhale and hold. 
Let go and exhale.

Ashes in the bed. 
We escape the crematorium
just to take the mates who aren't with us, 

with us.

I talk to you about the phone call,
how I tried to keep him on the line
.
I talk to you about missed calls,
how I said I’d call back after my shift.

I talk to you about the funeral,
how he had Sonic on his casket.
I talk about the picture they had of us when we were younger
How I looked into his eyes but only saw black ink.
Only saw a good kid.


It's not fair that all that weight was his. 
It's my fault for not being there for him.

Your hand touches mine, moving it from my face.
you hold my palm with the intimacy and tenderness

our bodies were always too scared to give
and you offer me

the next best thing after a Tyson left hook.  

It makes you lighter.  It's good