If I had millions of dollars
I could shoot your ashes into the sun,
urn and all,
and wait, the anti-hero,
for you, the fallen pheonix,
to rise up from his ashes.

But I want to burn them again and again,
and see you not reborn but asleep,
and that is why I don't sleep.

One's too many.
One was a son, another a threat,
and you had to choose.
I lucked out.
But not the second time.

Ashes the cops could clock speeding, still,
ashes over the legal limit
and still thirsty.

A shovel and I'd give you a home,
like the one I dug for myself.

But one day I'll cross your new eyes
and my old soul will crumble.
You won't see me.
And that moment of happiness will ignite me
until I am a star, brand new, and full of rage,
for having felt left behind.
Even though I always stayed to your right.

A dollar for every tear I cried
because drugs meant more than you
would buy all the people you showed me
a final meal.
They'd spend it on dope, though.
Every dollar.

Each cent, each scent that reminds me
I was once the one
who tried to heal another's wounds,
just makes me crawl back in your skin.
Because your jackets never fit me.

And I miss you.
The way god misses heaven the moment he looks away.
It is gone.
Like you.
But unlike you, I do run out of smiles.
But never out of tears, somehow.

Like ;-)

Different