Scot

My eyeball wanders, captures the corners
for it can't stay fixed
on the dread

A man so strong, or boy
more suitable
Lays stripped on his death-bed

The constant beeps
and flow of chemicals
They say "to fight the cells"

A boy you can't judge,
no evil to speak
Lays doped and
forced through hell

His humour remains
when his eyes aren't so glazed
My words struggle
to be said

Many can't come
and I understand but
importance hangs on a thread

The fear grows strong
for him and all
We embrace and share our tears

Fate is lingering,
haunting the silence
Ready to swallow
the years

In my careless absence
the reaping was done
A part of me left with you

A death blow phonecall,
no right way to say it
Thoughts so heavy
So true

So proud of the strength
He knew his outcome,
yet faced it with courage and gut

I envy the boy,
my friend, inspiration
I hope to see soon
When I cut