I can't grasp the concept of death; 
how someone can be here one moment and gone the next.
I didn't think a fragile needle had the power to take the life
of a man who fathered my cousin and had a wife.
I know you're not here and you're not coming back,
but I'll be waiting for you to knock of my door again,
I'll be waiting to hear about the stupid shit you did.
But, then reality will smack me across the face with the 
daily reminder that you're not fucking coming back 
because heroin was more important
than us and that the death card
hidden under my bed will continue to haunt me
telling me that March 10th, 2010
wasn't just a regular Wednesday.