When am I allowed to feel honest?
I wanna know because your glow
is bright and I applaud
with absolute sincerity,
but my heart is more
than a celebratory red.
My exuberance will always be
pumping through clots of loss.

You are the better self,
the one that you needed to be,
but I don't know if you see
that you killed someone
deer to me; more than I said.

I regret not telling you how much
I appreciated every pedantic
inturrection you spouted.
Even when it was me.
Wrong fits me well.
It fit the man you killed
to be the woman you are.

I know this plea is a far shot,
but listen if you can to a friend's lament.
You were everything I needed
in a time when hope bled.
You were a call I cherished
and a mind like no other.
And I know that some of that is you,
but it isn't. I can't speak his name.

I can't hug him or meet with friends
to mourn the man who willfully died.
Inside I am shattered to lose someone
who honestly did matter, but that
is all gone now and I can't ask for
permission to thank the friend
you took away. And it doesn't feel fair
to the friend that I came to love.

You are new and I am too.
We'll never be what we were.
But I swear to share your pride.
With dignity, I'll defend you
at my side, but I wanna know
when do I get to cry for
the love that you let go?

Is all of this selfish
or must I wish for better
times ahead with this
stranger who is bolder
holding the memories
of my dearest friend?

You were never the loser in your mirror.
You were a cool bastard and sick trickster.
You were my anchor and my savior,
my favorite cup of coffee every morning
that we kissed the sun's early climb.
I am alive because of the person you killed.
So promise to stay close and share all you will.

Friends no more
or friends again.
I give my blessing.
Forgive my lament.