O! The wasted and fleeting moments
that we shared together meant so much.
I was the generous one, and you were
for the people.
“Hey bro, can I have a hit of your juul”
shall not be spoken to me thus forth
for you are gone and only the ruin
of what once was remains.
Never again can I rip a fat one
and blow sick clouds to impress the bros.
I am without myself, my extension
and I am lost.
That fateful night in the Uber
can hardly be remembered now,
after many rounds of beer pong and
kegs with the boys,
it being a Saturday after all.
But in my mind’s eye I can see,
o, most wretched thought, you, my love,
Sitting in the backseat having
simply slipped away from me.
Until my father once again gives me
money, I am juul-less, and I am without
direction. Lost, in the never ending
swirl of shots with the boys, missing my
only friend, that sweet, beautiful hit
of mango. I long for one last hit with
you, my fallen brethren, and one true bro.
