Two new things today, rather than one old. I got inspired last night to write my first poem in years. A poem about one of my best friends, Tony. I don’t have a picture of him to use, and he wouldn’t want it shown anyways.
I don’t know his last name, because I never cared to ask and he never cared to tell me.
Tony was homeless but boy was our home together in our hearts. Tony gave his life for me and I will never forget him for it.
Better Than Sex.
Remember that time you told me shooting up was better than sex?
How the needle would make you feel inside, when you would flex.
This may be the most important thing anyone ever told me,
Meth, Coke, H, etcetera, or Ex. I tried it all, except for the next,
Shooting it into a vein,
I felt like after Tony told me if I did it,
I’d never be the same.
I wish Tony had a chance and became,
more than a man who gave his life for me, and proved to me, a virgin my vein,
would take no blame.
Tony passed in an embarrassing way,
He was in the dorm bath-room,
needle in his arm.
Head cocked back with saliva to drip — on the floor soon.
I wish there was something I could say,
to bring you,
You had a way,
of kindness and beauty,
that people with, and you without,
wished they could find out.
Tony thank you for telling me,
That I should never shoot into my veins,
Because without you selling that to me,
I’m not sure I’d be here,
Just the same.
If it’s better than sex,
I don’t want to know its name.
R.I.P. Tony, I miss you.
Thank you for reading.