PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

i answered the phone that day, brother, remember?

i bet you don't, all cryin' and askin' for mom like you didn't know who i was, like i was just some stranger livin' at your old home, some secretary for the tweaked-out boys who were callin' and askin' for help

i was there, brother, i saw our father go runnin' out the door, you know, i saw things on the other side, man, as you were curled up on a bad trip, some insane combination of acid/pot/ecstacy/meth/shrooms in your system, they'd tell you that you were supposed to be dead, brother, but did you listen?

it was just something to boast about, hey you, lookit how much i took in and didn't die, lookit my high tolerance, i'm one bad bastard

you didn't see your sister cryin' at home, like this was the end of the world, like she had no idea of how messed up you were with her child eyes wild eyes

you didn't see me scared as our parents left the house to find you, the dead of night, winter and freezing, their eyes all bleary from sleep

you didn't see me stand at the window, wiping away the fog from my breath, standing there and standing there for hours until they came home without you, told me to go to bed, assumed their arrival had woken me

you didn't have to make that trip to the asylum, brother, because it was you there, knees shakin', tellin' us what meds you were takin', and i sat there, lookin' at the crazies around me and thinkin' that one of them was mine, one of them was my brother, and since then, man,

i've just stopped likin' you, but i can't stop worrying about the next call.