Now I can not tell you of my first memory. It may have been remembering heaven as a baby. I bet no one can. But I can tell you the first thing I remember now. I was about three years old. I was the youngest in our family of five and I knew they were my homies, my cronies, but that is not a memory is it? 

We lived in an old Victorian type, large home in Maryland. I remember running up to the back porch and climbing up on to the porch next to the stairs (there were three steps). I did this purposefully. I wanted to see if I could get on the porch without using the steps. I was successful! I was so proud. It wasn't as easy as the stairs but I didn't care. I got up there! I think that back then, an angel must have put the idea in my little head. It taught me a great lesson about there being more than one way to skin a cat.

I'm having trouble comprehending the frustrating irony

of the way that

i can't get you off my mind

but yet, i can neither think of

one single way

in which you are good for me

this won't end well.

i'm telling you

it won't.

and i know that because

right when i placed my pen

onto my paper,

it drew a picture.

a picture of death.

now, i've never seen death.

i've never looked it

straight in the eye

and said

"fuck you"

i wish i could've though.

i wish i could've spoken

to the one thing

people fear most.

i wish i was brave enough

to be fearless

and daring.

i wish i wasn't scared of death.

now i told you

this won't end well.

because i know when it ends,

death will be there

picking up the pieces

of the heart he broke

and sowing them to his wall.

his wall of

the lovers.

next to the wall

of the loved.

and if there were

no hearts to pick up.

he would've taken the dead

to his other wall

the unloved.

and i know this won't end well.

because i know exactly

which wall i'm ending up on.

this won't end well.

i'm telling you

it won't.