Oh where do I begin.
Whenever I feel like this, it's better to sing.

So many times this poem started,
Of our curly haired coconut headed freak who's now departed.

It's a shock the mother fucker is gone,
Now all of us are like-to whom do we belong.

It might come as a prick and turn into a stab.
It might come as a flood or a marijuana dab.

But it will come and take its toll.
I can wait and do my role.

By my side you will feel less sore.
Side by side we will write his story more.

He is in us and I can not believe.
How open we've gotten after his death and in between.

It's happened with most present here.
Atleast the ones who've shed more tears.

Your hair I sheered off your body,
With a blade so blunt no one would be steady.