the boy i knew

i write about him
cuz no one else will
he always had shit on his shoes
but could walk on
and come out looking brand new
with less then a scare or two
his cloths a mixture of old and used
eyes an ever changing blue
could never stay still
lips that spoke lies
truth that shined threw
with a song in his head
and the voices of the dead
intoxicated numb and drugged
i wish these were wounds
i knew how to stitch and sew