He spoke the truth.
     in bits, in pieces
He showed every morsel of the ugly
     the beautiful
     the proud.
He sang it outwards.
     Hey, it’s me.
     And fuck if you don’t like it
     my sweet friend.
No honey,
No sweet saintly sugars,
No fake flowers
     or cheap pink pop-up cards.
He knew.
     sometimes the blood, the lust, the shame
     spills over.
     Shocking even ourselves, he
screamed it  (yeah, 
     and we screamed back
     our throats raw)
With all of our insides, the guts
And bowels of unused promises
Covering all the things we wish
     we never were.
He found us.
     singing broken parts that 
     no-one would dare
     declare
     were there.
     (all of it)
He gave.
     Every pink and drink.
     The highs, goodbyes.
     Now lying under honey and sugar and flowers.
     Death beneath decoration.
He hated this so much.
So give him his cold stone.
Let us kiss it.
Let us feel our hard center
     chiseled with the dates of a truly lived life.